Acts Like Summer, Walks Like Rain
by EleanorLilyPotter
Summary: Kurt gave Dave his number after Prom. And that should have been it, because Dave was never going to call. But throw in hormones, unrequited love and a pinch of summer heat during five-hour phone conversations and the sky is their limit. Kurtofsky.
1. He's Such A Teaser, He's Such A Star

**Author's Note:** It's five AM here. I'm still high from the insanity that was the Glee finale and, apparently, the only thing that stuck with me was Blaine and Kurt's conversation. So, if you haven't seen it yet **THERE BE SPOILERS HERE**. Consider yourself warned.

* * *

><p>"So… he said he loved me."<p>

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all I get? David, don't take this the wrong way, please, but you're the worst gay friend anyone could possibly have."

"Maybe I'm just _a _friend, then."

"No, no, no, you're not pulling back now, you're –"

"Fuck you, Kurt."

"…what."

"You fucking heard me."

"Okay, should I hang up now?"

"Whatever."

"David!"

"Yeah, what."

"Oh, fine. Be that way. You're just bitter because you don't have an incredible boyfriend –"

"Fucking hell, Hummel!"

" – who knows your coffee order and sings amazingly and dances even better and – "

"Shut up, shut up, just _shut the fuck up_!"

" – and has perfect hair all the time and says 'I love you' like it's nothing, like you've been saying it to each other forever, like it's just 'You're cute even if you have the sexual appeal of a baby penguin' and not fucking _'I love you'_!"

"Shut – Wait, what?"

"You _heard_ me."

"Did you just… Kurt, did you just swear?"

"Well, I guess I did!"

"Hey."

"I can do it if I feel like it, alright? _You _do it all the time for _no _reason, so why can't I when – "

"Kurt."

" – when I have such a good. Fucking. Reason!"

"Kurt."

"What!"

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone 'bout your potty mouth."

"Why, thank you so much. How can I ever repay you? Oh, I know. Next time you rely on me and expect my support I'll just tell you to… go away."

"Potty mouth ran out?"

"Go have sexual intercourse with yourself, why won't you, Karofsky."

"Fuck, if I could… Ugh, creepiest mental picture _ever_."

"Charming."

"Never said I was."

"Very true."

"Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sorry you don't love Bland."

"What? I-I never said that, I just – "

"If you did you'd have snuck out by now, driven up to Doucheville and jumped his pretty little bones."

"I don't sneak out."

"You would if you loved him."

"I would, would I?"

"Yeah. At least once."

"And why is that? Pray tell me."

"'Cause when you're in love you do things you never thought you would. You sneak out at two in the morning, you say 'I love you' 'cause you just can't keep it in anymore, you start reading about Broadway musicals of the 1940s, you practice singing love songs you'll never sing, you wear fucking ugly red berets, and you kiss boys who hate you in dirty locker rooms."

"David…"

"That's what you do, Fancy. That's what you do."

"It sounds complicated. And _messy_."

"Tell me about it."

"Broadway musicals? Really?"

"Shut up."

"You shouldn't just read about them. You should listen."

"How f_un_!"

"… oh my god, _Dave_, you sounded _so _gay right now."

"Have you met _you_, Princess?"

"Anyway."

"Did you say it back?"

"Yes."

"… Good."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. What else could you say?"

"What else could I say?"

"'I'm sorry.' 'I don't.' 'I'm joining the circus. Always wanted to be a clown juggler.'"

"'Clown juggler'?"

"Fucking hate clowns."

"Me too."

"Did he buy it?"

"…I-I think so."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to do, David."

"You're asking _me_?"

"You're my friend."

"I'm the guy who thought wooing meant throwing your crush into fucking lockers and slushying the life out of him."

"You never slushied me. You actually missed that time."

"Who said I was talking about you, Fancy? Look at that ego _go_."

"… oh. Sorry."

"Right, you gotta be fucking kidding me."

"What? What did I do _now_?"

"Really?"

"Ugh, David! You're so… frustrating!"

"The ladies _love_ it."

"How very heterosexual of you."

"My hockey buddies would be so proud."

"I'm sure they would."

"What are you gonna do next?"

"About what?"

"Bland."

"Seriously, David?"

"He is! Always so perfect and pretty and _blargh._"

"This is the second time you've called my boyfriend pretty in the span of this conversation. Should I be worried?"

"You don't love him, so."

"I might. One day, I will."

"Have a good fucking life, then."

"So sweet."

"Never said I was."

"That's your excuse for everything, isn't it? Besides, I thought you liked pretty boys."

"Wow, Fancy, do you have a license for that ego you're carryin'?"

"I meant _Sam,_ obviously."

"_Evans_?"

"Santana told me about you. And the _might_-have-happened-because-I-never-take-Santana's-words-at-face-value checking out of Sam's butt."

"Godammit, so it's true she can keep her fucking mouth closed as much as her legs, then."

"Seriously, David, I'm vomiting pink hearts at all the lovely things you say about your girlfriend."

"'S true."

"Nevertheless, you should keep it to yourself around people who don't recognize your relationship for the smelly lie it is."

"Like you and Bland?"

"No. Blaine and I are incredibly happy together, thank you."

"Like me and Santana. We like, _rule the school_, y' know?"

"I'm laughing in the inside."

"'Course you are."

"_Dave_…"

"W-what?"

"Why can't I just be happy with what I have? Blaine _is _perfect, and he _loves _me! He loves _me_!"

"Like _that_'s so fucking hard."

"Excuse me?"

"You're like, the easiest person to love, ever."

"_Excuse _me?"

"Oh, shut up, you know you're perfect."

"…"

"Kurt?"

"…"

"Oh, come _on_."

"…"

"Well, fuck you to."

"… I-I am?"

"God, what's your damage?"

"Dave…"

"You're telling me your perfect pretty boyfriend tells you 'I love you' like you're the ketchup to his French fries or some shit, and he doesn't tell you _that_?"

"He says – he says I'm adorable."

"What!"

"It's a compliment!"

"Fuck, you're like, the least adorable person on the _planet._"

"Well, thank you! You're just _too _kind!"

"No, stop it, jus – just listen, okay?"

"… Fine."

"You're not adorable. You're bitchy, and loud, and annoying as fuck, and snobbish and petty. You're a pain in the ass and –"

"Well, this has been lovely, but I think –"

" – and love to play the frigid ice queen and do drama like nobody's business. You're _not _adorable. Kittens nuzzling puppies are adorable. Hell, my little sister is adorable, when she's not bringing down the house in one of her diva fits."

"Is that all? Are you done insulting me? Can I go _now_?"

"You're _hot_. And I don't even mean Evans hot, or – or James Dean hot, I mean _you_ hot. Which is pretty fucking indecent, if you ask me. And your nose is perfect and your fucking mouth and you have really pretty ey – but you're not adorable, Kurt."

"Should I _feel _complimented?"

"How the hell should _I _know? I don't even know how _I_'m supposed to be feeling half the time."

"So I'm a hot guy with an awful personality? Could be worse, I guess."

"No, you… you're perfect, okay?"

"Like Blaine?"

"The fuck… No! Where are you getting this? You're nothing like him, d'you hear me? _Nothing_."

"Then what _am _I, David?"

"You're – you're kind. And you care. Really care, not just 'bout what you think it's best but about what other people really want. You're special. And not in the "everybody's special, hooray" way. It's the good kind, the kind that will get you out of this fucked up town. And you're funny and scary smart and you make friends with people who should be eating the dirt you step on."

"David."

"'S true. You are – and I'm nothing."

"Don't."

"Kurt – "

"Don't, David! If I have to believe all those things you said about me, then you must never, ever repeat that around me again, understand?"

"_Kurt_ –"

"You're _not _nothing, David! You're – you're _not_!"

"_Kurt_ –"

"What!"

"I love you."

"Oh."

"Fuck."

"_Dave_…"

"Fuck, forget it, okay?"

"No, I don't think I will."

"God, Kurt, don't do –"

"I – I have to go, now."

"No, don't –"

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"_Kurt –_"

"See you tomorrow, David."

"Don't – _Kurt_."

"…"

"Fine."

"…"

"Fucking _swell_."

"…"

"G'bye."


	2. I Do Love, He Does Heartbreak

**Author's Note: **After the absolute craziness that were the reviews to the first chapter, I _had _to do this. You guys... there's no words for the amount of awesome you bring to my life. Really hope I don't disappoint.

* * *

><p>"Where were you all day?"<p>

"Not your damn business."

"David, please."

"I had stuff to do."

"_Stuff_? What _stuff_?"

"Stuff."

"I was worried."

"It's none of your fucking business, okay?"

"What isn't? Last night –"

"My fucking _life_ is none of your business."

"My, aren't you a little ball of sunshine today."

"What the fuck do you want, Hummel?"

"Nothing, _Karofsky_. Have a nice life."

"Sure, whatever."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

"No."

"The hell, I didn't ask you anything."

"No."

"Hummel, you fried?"

"No."

"Fine."

"No."

"Oh, what-the-fuck-_ever_."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"So, are we talking now, or…"<p>

"If I remember correctly, and I almost always do, you were the one who said _your_ life was none of my business."

"Yeah, 'bout that…"

"Yes?"

"Fine! I'm sorry! I was out of line, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. We go to school together. We're friends; at least Ithought we were. You go missing for a whole day and I _worry_, David, it's what friends _do_."

"Sure."

"What do you mean, '_sure_'?"

"Just… just let it go, Kurt, _please_."

"Alright."

"… Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"So, we got a trophy."

"For the singing thing?"

"_Nationals_, David."

"Yeah, that. That's good, right?"

"It's really tiny."

"You like'em big, huh?"

"Oh, shut up."

"…"

"I can hear you _snorting_."

"…"

"It's extremely unattractive."

"You know, since you have your boy and all, you'd better not go 'round hitting on other guys."

"I wasn't hitting on anyone. I only pointed out how aesthetically unpleasant your hysterics were."

"Ouch, Fancy."

"Serves you right."

"I'm hurt."

"Good."

"You're a vindictive little bitch, you know that Princess?"

"You love it."

"…"

"Dave, I didn't –"

"'S alright."

"No, I didn't mean to – I didn't want –"

"Don't sweat it. I guess I kinda deserve it."

"Of course you don't! David, I swear, I didn't mean anything by it, I– wait, are you crying?"

"…"

"I will _end_ you."

"…"

"I'm serious, _Karofsky_."

"I can tell. You're using your bitchy serious-business voice."

"I can't believe you. I thought you were having a breakdown!"

"…"

"Stop laughing!"

"…"

"That's it. Tonight I'm coming to your house and shaving your hair in the shape of vagina."

"How the fuck would you know what a vagina looks like?"

"I have my ways."

"Okay, that was seriously creepy."

"The thought of me breaking into your house one of these nights?"

"No, the, hum, the vagina thing."

"So you have no problem with random people sneaking into your room?"

"Random people, yeah. You? Not so much."

"Oh."

"You asked, Fancy."

"I know."

"So, how's it going with you and Bland?"

"Superbly."

"… Really?"

"No."

"Wanna talk it out?"

"Not really."

"Okay."

"He's just… he's so happy!"

"Huh."

"No, I mean – things are going just fine, and he's happy, and he _loves_ me, but…"

"Are _you_ happy?"

"I _should_ be, shouldn't I?"

"No 'should' about it, Fancy. You can be whatever the fuck you want. No need to act all jolly if you don't feel like it."

"I know. I know that, I just – he's all I ever wanted, and I know it sounds like such an awful cliché, but it's true."

"Yeah, well."

"What?"

"All I wanted when I was four was a life size green cement chucker."

"Whatever _for_?"

"Fuck if I know."

"And that's supposed to help me how?"

"Huh. Scratch that, I kinda still want one."

"Oh, _David_."

"What?"

"N-Nothing."

"Right…"

"Look, I should go. Finn was playing some ridiculously gorish video game and now it's gone extremely quiet downstairs."

"And…?"

"He's usually very vocal. And physically expressive."

"And Hudson being Hudson –"

"Last week it was Carole's new lamp. I'd better go."

" 'K then. I'll call you later?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"As if you could live without me."

"I'd miss your refined rhetoric and worldly knowledge."

"See?"

"Crap, I think I heard a crash. Wish me luck?"

"I would but it's Hudson, so…"

"True. Well, I'll take to you later, then. Disaster zone, here I come."

"Take pictures."

"If I survive. Bye, David."

"Bye, Fancy."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"You're still alive, then."<p>

"There are yellow cheese stains all over my fourth favorite pair of white skinny pants. I smell like Mrs. Pillsbury's office. I've lost the use of my right hand forever and I'll probably have a bald patch by the end of the week."

"Huh. Never took Hudson for the kinky type."

"What – _ugh_, David, _ew_."

"Y'know the step in stepbrother is there for a reason, right?"

"Yes, but I think all my hard work towards repressing any form of romantic Finn feelings turned him into a cute little asexual slug in my head, thank Gaga."

"You had a crush on _Hudson_?"

"_So _last year."

"But he's a jock!"

"And…? Tall, strong, cute – even if in a little too all-American male for me, but still. Very crush-worthy."

"_Great_."

"What?"

"You said jocks weren't your type, remember?"

"Actually, I don't."

"In the locker room."

"Oh."

"Yeah?"

"Well, _technically_…"

"_What_, Kurt?"

"I said _you_ weren't my type."

"Fucking fantastic."

"_Dave_ –"

"Save it."

"No, I won't. Do you want to know what my type is?"

"Fuck off, Hummel."

"See? _Nice_ is my type. Guys who don't shove me into lockers, or give me slushy facials when I'm wearing really expensive clothes, or _at all_. Guys who say 'Hi, Kurt' instead of 'Hello, fag'. Guys who don't make me change schools because I'm terrified they'll make good on their promise to _kill me_!"

"…"

"And now you run away."

"…"

"Goodbye, David."

* * *

><p>"I'm an asshole."<p>

"No, you used to be an asshole. Now you're just sort of a poophead."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"So, if I it had been me joining glee club last year instead of Hudson –"

"_Dave_…"

"Well?"

"I – I don't know."

"Oh. Okay."

"Oh, alright! I'd have had this incredibly embarrassing crush on you. Pathetic, really."

"Fuck."

"What?"

"Me."

"David!"

"No, I mean – forget it."

"If you say so."

"So, are you homeless?"

"What? Oh, _that._ Not really, but I'm never leaving Finn unsupervised with a bag of Cheetos ever _again_."

"Is your right hand alright, then?"

"Thankfully yes."

"That's good."

"Very good. I need it for a lot of things. Like _writing_. And _sewing_."

"Fucking tragic if you lost it."

"I'm bypassing your very clumsy attempt at a sexual innuendo, just so you know."

"Yeah, I noticed. Hey, what're you doing this summer?"

"Nothing involving my right hand, certainly."

"Bo-ring."

"I _do _have a boyfriend."

"Shyeah, _right_."

"Well, I do!"

"_Bland_."

"Blai-ne. And we're very… affectionate."

"Sure. All those longing looks and hand-holding. _Fun_."

"Well, I was holding out on any sort of detailed description, but if that's what you're aiming for –"

"Right, I think my mom's home."

"Chicken."

"_Bye_, Fancy."

"_Chicken_."

"…"

"I guess I'll call you later, then."

"…"

"Right."


	3. I'll Show You The Time Of Your Life

**Author's Note:** I'm seriously addicted. CHapter 4 is being written already. Thank you all SO much for the incredible support, really.

* * *

><p>"This summer's gonna <em>suck<em>."

"Well, hello there."

"… Sorry. Hi, Kurt."

"Hi, Dave."

"So, can I tell you about the major suckage this summer's gonna be or should I ask you about your day, too?"

"That _would_ be very considerate, but I'll let it go this time."

"Right, so. Summer's gonna _suck_."

"So you've said. And why is that?"

"Azimio's going over to his gradma's in the middle of fucking nowhere, I can't go camping with my dad 'cause he got promoted and his fucking boss is making him work overtime, and I _know_ my sister's fucking noisy friends are gonna be having sleepovers here _every single night_, so there goes fucking peace and quiet."

"Hmm. It doesn't sound very promising."

"Right?"

"Well, I guess it's good your father got promoted, but it's too bad about your camping trip. Do you do that every year?"

"Yeah, since I was a little kid. We didn't get to go last summer because of me, but I was kinda looking forward to it this year."

"Because of you? What happened?"

"Asshole, remember?"

"_I beg your pardon_?"

"Not you! Me, remember?"

"Oh. _Oh_!"

"Yeah."

"So you didn't keep your repertoire as a school only event?"

"I wasn't giving my sister swirlies or slushying my mom, but yeah. Wasn't the best year of my life."

"Tell me about it."

"Shit, Fancy. I'm sorry, I just – it's not like I forget I did it to _you_, but – you make it so easy, y'know?"

"To forget?"

"Well, kinda. And you just talk to me like… like you forgave me."

"I didn't."

"I know. I know you can't, but –"

"I never said that, David. No, I haven't forgiven you. Yet. Alright?"

"… Really? You think… you think you could? One day?"

"Yes, I – I know I will."

"… oh."

"Dave?"

"Fuck."

"What? And if you say 'me' again, I'll –"

"God, I'm such a screw-up."

"Why would you say that?"

"You just said you could forgive me. And all I can think of is how I – it'd just ruin everything, but all I could think of –"

"What? _What_, David?"

"I really want to kiss you right now."

"…"

"Kurt, _please_. Just forget it, _please_!"

"You keep asking me to do that."

"Well, I keep putting my fucking big foot in my big fucking mouth, don't I?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No! After that, I – I could never be mad at you, Kurt."

"Oh. Good."

"Not so sure it is."

"What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't – you shouldn't be talking to me. We shouldn't be friends."

"Alright, I'll bite. Why not?"

"´Cause if we weren't on the phone, if I could see you now, I'd do it. I'd kiss you again, Fancy."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Would you hit me? Hurt me again?"

"What? _Fuck_, Kurt, of course not! I would never – you have to know I'd never – goddamnit, you _have_ to know!"

"I do. I do, Dave. That's why you wouldn't kiss me. Not if you thought I didn't want you to."

"Glad someone does, 'cause I for fucking sure don't."

"You wouldn't. You're not – you're not that person anymore."

"I –"

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna go, okay? Just give me a minute, I'll call you back."

"Wait, what? David, I – well, I guess you're gone then."

"…"

"You had _better_ call me back."

* * *

><p>"Hi, Kurt."<p>

"Dave! What happened? Are you alright? What happened?"

"Geez, take a pill, Fancy. I'm _fine_."

"Well, you didn't sound fine an_ hour_ ago! You said it'd take a minute, whatever it was!"

"Jesus, Kurt, maybe I went to the bathroom and the toilet clogged and my whole house got flooded and now I'm lying on my bed waiting for my death, like those Titanic kids, and talking to you, so cut a guy some slack for leaving you hangin', will you?"

"… That makes no sense. _If _your toilet was clogged, the water would just run out. You wouldn't be waiting for your death; you would be helping your parents clean up the mess _you_ made. So you had better come up with an awfully good excuse for taking so long and making me worry about your unappreciative ass."

"So _mean_. Think about it, you would be the one I chose to speak to on my deathbed."

"I'm waiting."

"No _fun_. No fun _at all_."

"That's me. Now start groveling."

"Yes, Your Majesty, Queen of the Prom."

"That would make _you_ my king, and you're more like the lazy peasant who sits in the tavern day and night, complaining about taxes and calling women wenches."

"So, if I'm the peasant, then who's your king? Wait, I bet it's _Bland_."

"No. _Weasley_ is my king."

"But wouldn't you like to let the Quaffle in?"

"David!"

"What, you can crack Harry Potter jokes, but I can't make one little Quidditch innuendo? How's that fair?"

"No one said the world was a fair place."

"There you go, crushing my hopes and dreams. You want some gloom with that cynicism?"

"I speak the truth. As in, I never asked to be gay. I never asked to be discriminated and harassed for something I have no control over. Does that seem fair to you?"

"Of course it _isn't_, but – I thought you _liked_ being gay."

"As much as I like having blue eyes or big feet. It's who I am; I just try to make the best of it."

"I like that you have blue eyes."

"So do I."

"And your feet are cute."

"David, you've never seen my feet."

"Did so."

"_When_?"

"Remember when you played as kicker for the football team?"

"… yes?"

"Huh, I might have gone back to my locker after practice."

"… go on."

"And you might have been there still. Wearing this really fluffy robe."

"It's very soft."

"It looked like it."

"_David_…"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me you didn't see me naked."

"I didn't see you naked."

"Good boy."

"I might have seen some leg, though."

"Oh my god."

"Hey, that thing only covered so much, okay?"

"Oh. My. God."

"Jesus, you make it sound like I was some stalker perving on you or something."

"Weren't you?"

"… okay, so maybe I was a _little_. But I didn't mean to!"

"Didn't you?"

"Damn it, I just wanted to get my car keys from my locker, and I thought everyone had gone home already, but there _you were, _parading around with that fucking _tease_ of a robe and _humming_, so sorry if my timing is all kinds of fucked up when it comes to you!"

"Well, did you stick around for a show?"

"No, okay? I fucking _didn't_! I already felt like Mr. Ryerson, so I just left and went straight home."

"… Why?"

"What do you mean, '_why'_?"

"I thought – I thought you'd want to see –"

"_Fuck_, Kurt –"

"And with what you said about 'Push It' and all –"

"Jesus –"

"Why _didn't_ you stay?"

"Fancy –"

"I mean, maybe all these things you think you're feeling, maybe they're just –"

"Don't you _dare_."

"Just you telling yourself to have a crush on me because I happen to be the only out gay at school. Maybe you –"

"Don't you fucking dare!"

"Maybe you don't even like me that way. I know my body isn't really – you know, and it's not like I can cover it up by being _sexy_ or something like that, god knows I've _tried_ –"

"Kurt!"

"W-what?"

"Could you… could you just shut up for one second and listen to me?"

"O-okay."

"You wanna know why I didn't stay? When I saw you there, all I could think of was how fucking gorgeous you'd look all spread out on one of those benches. Naked and still wet from your shower, squirming and twisting under me, letting me put my hands all over you, hard for _me_, moaning and begging for _me _to touch you, to kiss you, to fucking make you _come_."

"…"

"Because that's all I could think of when I saw you in your gear at the game, then in your fucking Cheerio uniform, every time you walked by me in the hallway with your goddamn tight pants, and your hands, and your neck, and that gorgeous mouth, and those fucking eyes. That's what I think of _every_. _Fucking_. _Day."_

"…"

"How good it always felt to touch you even for just one second before shoving you into those lockers. How fucking beautiful you look everyday and how _hot_ you are when you get all bitchy in my face. That's what I thought of, Fancy, and I thought it was sick. That _I _was sick. Not just 'cause you're a guy, but because of all those things I did to you or let others do to you."

"…"

"Do you know how many time I jerked off thinking of you? _Saying your name_. Feeling lower than shit when I c-came. So yeah, I left. And I wish I could have done it every time, so now you wouldn't hate me for saying this and could have had your first kiss with someone you actually wanted."

"…"

"Kurt? I – I know you're still there. If you're gonna hung up – just do it, but if you're not –"

"I'm here."

"Don't… don't hate me. _Please_."

"I d-don't."

"Really?"

"Y-yes. But I think I have to go now."

"Right. I get it. I… I won't call you, I promise."

"You, huh, you can call me. Just – tomorrow, okay?"

"I – sure."

"O-okay. I really need to go. Bye, Dave."

"G'bye, Kurt."

"…"

"…"


	4. Give Me A Reason, Or Give Me A Chance

**Author's Note: **Hmm, I think we're getting somewhere, _finally_. And I'm getting repetitive, but you're amazing. Thank you so much, all those who took the time to review, the ones who favorited the story _and _me, the ones who put this on Story Alert - THANK YOU.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?"<p>

"Hum, hi. You, huh, you never called me back."

"I thought you wouldn't pick up."

"I said you could, didn't I?"

"Yeah, well."

"What, David?"

"_You_ could have called me. I thought you didn't wanna talk to me anymore."

"I _told_ you to call me. Four days ago."

"Yeah? Maybe I'm not your bitch, Hummel, ever think of that? Maybe I have a life."

"David, don't. Are you – you don't have to be embarrassed."

"I'm not. I don't fucking care."

"About what, exactly?"

"You. My life."

"O-okay. I'll call you back later, then."

"Don't bother."

"_Bye_, Dave."

"Whatever."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry."<p>

"You don't have to be."

"Not for last week. I'm sorry I was such an ass to you – after."

"It's alright, David, really."

"No it fucking isn't! I thought I had screwed everything up, _again_, and you were – you should just do yourself a favor and ditch me, Fancy."

"No."

"_Kurt_ –"

"No! I'm _not_ giving up on you, Dave! You can yell at me, and you can hang up and never call me back, but you _can't_ throw me off. I've been told I can be rather… persistent."

"A stubborn little bitch, that's more like it."

"And I'd appreciate you didn't call me that."

"I – sorry. See? Keeps happening. I just shouldn't be around nice people."

"Am I nice?"

"Fishing for compliments, Fancy?"

"All the time."

"Yeah, you're nice. You're very nice."

"How nice am I exactly, Dave?"

"Super nice. Totally nicely nice."

"Hmm?"

"… yeah, Fancy, you don't really wanna go there."

"I don't?"

"You don't know what you're doing."

"I think I know exactly what I'm doing, _Dave_."

"How's Bland?"

"… fine. Be that way."

"You're a nice person, Kurt. You don't play with people like that. Even if they kinda deserve it."

"Maybe I wasn't playing."

"Sure."

"_David_…"

"So, is Hudson behaving? Or did you have to put him in the corner?"

"He's already potty trained, fortunately, so I washed my hands of it and sent him on a play date at Rachel's."

"… Seriously?"

"What can I say? The bipolar nature of their relationship fascinates me."

"Isn't there medication for that?"

"Well, at least this way he's occupied and out of my hair."

"And God forbid your hair gets messed up, huh Fancy?"

"Do you mock, sir?"

"With the hair of Your Fanciness? I would _never_."

"Hmpft, you'd better _not_."

"I'd love to see it all crazy one day, though."

"Don't you dare, _Karofsky_."

"You'll see, first day of school –"

"David, I'm warning you –"

"You'll never see it coming. You're gonna look _so_ pretty, all wild and shit."

"I'll come to your house and steal all your possessions. And then I'll use your toothbrush to scrub off each and every one of Finn's sports socks."

"Y'know, this is the second time you threatened breaking into my house. Fishing for an invite now?"

"Well, it's kind of rude how you've never asked me over."

"Maybe I'm worried you'll be your usual nasty self, call my mom fat and pee all over the new curtains."

"Hmpf. You should take me as I am. I thought we were _friends_."

"Aww. Fancy, see? Now it's all awkward. I can't have you coming to my house. You're an animal."

"Are you ashamed of me, David? Is this because of my table manners? I really thought we were past that."

"_What_ table manners?"

"See? You just won't accept me."

"And it's like you don't even know what a shower is! We'll have to have the house fumigated!"

"So I'm never getting my invite?"

"Sorry. You'll have to stick to your B&E routine."

"I guess I always have that."

"Guess so."

"I might not even say hello to your mother, though. Maybe I'll go straight to you room. Incredibly disrespectful of me, isn't it?"

"That'd be… rude."

"Mm-hmm."

"You – you can't let my mother down like that. She'd shit bricks if she met you."

"_Why_?"

"She'd love you."

"I like her already."

"You selfless saint."

"What can I say? I live to be worshipped."

"All hail King Kurt?"

"Correct."

"Anyway. She'd be all over you. You'd be 'Thank you, Mrs. Karofsky', 'Please, just one sugar, Mrs. Karofsky' and 'Oh, this china pattern is just lovely, Mrs. Karofsky' all fucking day. And then she'd have me kicked out of the house in the time it took to get those adoption papers."

"Hmm. Interesting. I gather your mother likes well-mannered people, then?"

"Yeah. Like you, all 'thank you' and 'excuse me' and 'I'm sorry, I think you might be stepping on my big toe, I hope it's not a bother'."

"So, basically, civilized members of society?"

"Something like that. Weird, right?"

"Preposterous."

"Dude, that's like, my favorite word _ever."_

"_David_."

"… Yeah?"

"Kurt. My lord and master. _Fancy_, even, since you can't seem to control yourself. _Never '_dude'. Got it?"

"_My lord and master_?"

"Yes?"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"It has such a nice ring to it."

"So does 'my almighty God', and they'll be putting me away before you ever hear me calling you _that._"

"Hmm. It has something to it, too. We'll see."

"… right. How's Bland?"

"Alive and well, last time I heard."

"Problems in paradise?"

"You _wish_."

"Yeah."

"Really? That's friendly of you."

"So _sorry_, my lord and master."

"Hmm, _nice_."

"Figures you'd have a power complex."

"I'll ignore that."

"Really, Kurt, do you – fuck, do you need to talk? Or something."

"If I did, I'd go to Mercedes. Or Finn."

"_Hudson_?"

"He's a very good listener. Once he's in close reach of food and beverage, that is."

"You could talk to _me_."

"No, I really couldn't, Dave."

"Is that 'cause of… last week?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"Well, fuck me. You said it didn't matter!"

"No, I never said that."

"Fuck, Kurt!"

"_Dave_…"

"Look, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm such a basket case, but I _like_ being your friend, alright? I want to be there for you – if you need someone. Can't you just – I don't know, erase it? Hit your head somewhere and get amnesia?"

"How kind!"

"You know what I mean."

"Look, Dave, don't worry, alright? I have – there are things I need to figure out _alone_. It has nothing to do with us being friends."

"I thought friends were good for shit like that."

"And they are. You're – you're a good friend, David."

"Right."

"What?"

"I haven't done a fucking good thing for you yet, Fancy. It's always _me_, _whine _fucking _whine_, and taking it all out on you. I haven't done shit for you."

"You have. You've actually done much more for me than I could begin to thank you for, David."

"I –"

"Trust me on this. Please?"

"… okay."

"Good."

"I should go. Get some sleep or whatever."

"You're not – you're not angry with me, are you?"

"… no."

"Yes you are! Really, David, you're just –"

"What? What _am _I, Kurt?"

"Nothing. Go sleep. I'll call you."

"But – fucking hell, Fancy."

"…"

"Guess we'll talk tomorrow, then."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Kuuuuurt? Kurtie?"<p>

"It's three in the afternoon, David. _How_ are you _drunk_?"

"N-not d-drunk."

"Of course not. What happened?"

"Party at Z's!"

"A party? _Now_?"

"What – nooo, Fancy, las' night."

"And you're still drunk? Impresive."

"'S how you don't get hung-over."

"I would think a more effective way would be _not_ getting drunk in the first place, but who am I."

"You're _Fancy_. Kurt _Fancy_."

"… right. Should I call you later?"

"Noooo! Talk to me, Kurtie. I like your voice."

"You –you do?"

"Sure! 'S like a pillow. Fluuuffy pillow with peanut butter."

"_What_?"

"So soft. An' tasty."

"My _voice_ is tasty?"

"_You_'re tasty."

"Oh."

"Ugh, Fancy, I don't feel so good."

"What –"

"I think I'm gonna –"

"David, tell me you didn't just puke. While on the phone with me."

"Sorry, Kurtie Fancy."

"That's it, I'm coming over."

"What? Where?"

"Your house. I bet your parents don't know you got drunk in the middle of the afternoon, _alone_."

"Nooo, you can't come!"

"Why not?"

"'M naked."

"You're _what_?"

"Na-ked."

"David."

"Kurtie."

"Why would you be drunk _and _naked at three in the afternoon?"

"Dunno."

"Alright, I'm not coming to your house. But you had better not hang up on me. And I want you to throw away any alcohol you still have laying around. And clean up your puke."

"'Kay."

"…"

"Hi, Kurt."

"Done?"

"Yeah."

"Good boy. Now go wash your face and brush your teeth, and then, for Gaga's sake, _put some clothes on_ and lay down. And _don't_ hang up."

"But, Fancy – "

"What _now_, David?"

"I can't –I can't brush my teeth and talk to you at the same time."

"Oh, alright – Leave the phone in your room. But don't turn it off; I have a great payment plan. And _hurry_!"

"Okay."

"David."

"Yeah?"

"You can go now."

"Oh. Okay, then."

"_Honestly_."

"…"

"You had better not be getting any drunker."

"…"

"And _why_ would you be naked, anyway?"

"…"

"Since when does brushing your teeth take so _long_?"

"S–sorry. Tripped."

"Oh, there you are. Are you dressed?"

"'Course I am, Fancy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You did say you were _naked_."

"Oh. That. Just didn't want you coming over."

"… Why?"

"I thought you'd be mad at me?"

"_Why_?"

"'Cause I didn't pick up when you called las' night."

"Weren't you at the party?"

"Didn't wanna talk to you."

"Oh."

"Didn't wanna think of you anymore."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Didn't work. 'M always thinking of you. All the fucking time."

"I-is that so bad?"

"You don't want me."

"David, I – did you lie down?"

"Yeah, you told me to."

"Yes. Better now?"

"Yeah. Sorry I barfed on you."

"It's alright. You missed me."

"Oh. Good. Your clothes are really pretty."

"You'd never said that."

"They are. An' your hair. An' your pretty feet."

"I think you might have a bit of a fetish there, Dave."

"Nooo, jus' wanna kiss 'em."

"My _feet_? Well, I guess –"

"Your _lips_."

"Oh."

"Can I, Fancy? Can I kiss 'em?"

"You – you –"

"Kurt?"

"How drunk are you, still?"

"Lots."

"So, the chances of you remembering this when you're sober –"

"I prolly won't."

"Oh."

"Fancy?"

"You – you can."

"What?"

"You can – you can kiss them."

"Who?"

"My lips, you big dumb meathead!"

"Ouch!"

"Sorry. That – that was uncalled for."

"Huh? Hurt my finger."

"What? How?"

"My zipper."

"What – what do you mean, _your zipper_?"

"Your voice makes me horny."

"…"

"Fuck _yeah_, that's better."

"D-David, what zipper _is _it?"

"Huh?"

"Is it… the one on your jacket?"

"My jeans."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Ungh, Fancy…"

"God, _David_…"

"I like it when you say my name like that."

"You – really?"

"Yeah. So _sexy_."

"I'm not – I'm not sexy."

"Yeah, you are. So fucking _hot_."

"Tell me?"

"Ugh, your legs. That _ass_, Fancy."

"_More_, David."

"Such a nice ass. Bet I could fit it all in my hands."

"Oh…"

"I was watching, y'know?"

"W-what?"

"When you came back to school. The Gaga dance."

"'Born – _Born This Way'_?"

"Loved your t-shirt."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Yeah. Your body, Kurt, fuck. The way you moved… I almost blew my load right then and there. You had me ready to come in my pants like fucking _Hudson_."

"Don't – don't talk about him."

"Wish I'd been up there. Dancin' with you. So close. Those hips, Fancy…"

"Ungh…"

"You like it, don't you? That I want you so fucking much?"

"Yesss…"

"Know you do. Make me so hot, Fancy, hot for you."

"The d-dance?"

"All the time. You know what I'd do?"

"… what?"

"I'd wait till everyone was gone. Jus' you and me on that stage. All alone."

"_David_…"

"I'd get down on my knees for you, Fancy, and I'd suck you right through your tight little pants till you were coming in them."

"Ungh!"

"Then I'd take you to the locker room. Get you out of those fucking clothes, but I'd leave your shirt on. Love that shirt."

"You could have – you could have one too – god, _David_…"

"Yeah? I'd wear it. Jus' for you."

"Tell me _more_."

"Alright, Bossy. Wanna know what I'd do next? I'd push you up against the lockers, your fucking legs over my shoulders and I'd lick you clean. Till you were begging. You look so beautiful when you beg, Fancy."

"I – I do?"

"Yeah. Dream of you. Every night. Bossing me around in bed then begging to make you come all over yourself."

"_Tell me_. Tell me, David, _please_!"

"I'd put you down, real slow, and you'd be all over me. Kissing _me_. Wanting me inside you, so I'd bend you over the bench and fuck you till you couldn't remember your own fucking name, Kurt."

"Fuck, _David_!"

"I – ungh – I'd do you hard – but slow. Want you to feel me all over. Inside you. So you'd never forget it. Forget _me_."

"I would never forget you, _David_."

"N-never? _Fuck_, Kurt…"

"You'd be my first."

"I would? Oh, _God_ – "

"Yes. The first to touch me like that, _see_ me like that."

"Would you – oh, Jesus – would you let me? Really?"

"Y-yes."

"Oh, fuck, _Kurt_!"

"…"

"…"

"David?"

"'M here, Kurtie."

"Are – are you alright?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic…"

"Oh. Me – me too."

"I love you, Kurt."

"Oh, _Dave_…"

"'M really sleepy, now."

"It's alright. Sleep. I – I'll call you tomorrow. You had better be sober by then."

"'Kay, Fancy. G'night."

"It's the middle of the afternoon."

"…"

"Goodnight, David."

"…"

"…"


	5. Am I Alone In Your Heart

**Author's Notes**: Ugh, thought I'd never finish this one. And we have a guest appearance! Thanks again for all the unbelievably lovely reviews; to those who wondered whether David would remember... Well, read on!

* * *

><p>"David. Hi."<p>

"Hum, hi, Kurt. Wait, did I – did I do something?"

"What? No, of course not."

"'S just – you sound all pissy."

"I'm not."

"Hum, okay. Look, I didn't drunk-dial you one of these days, did I?"

"_What_!"

"Got a missed call from you on my phone. I thought I'd –"

"I didn't – I mean, no you didn't call me."

"Oh. Okay, good. Geez, that's a relief."

"Why?"

"I'm kinda of a talky drunk."

"Don't you mean talkative?"

"Yeah. That."

"You didn't call me. _I_ called you."

"You did?"

"Yes. Two days ago. Why _were _you drunk in the middle of the afternoon, David?"

"I was? Shit. Keep getting blanks."

"Blanks? So you, huh, you remember?"

"Remember what? I didn't –I didn't _say_ anything to you, did I?"

"You – you puked. And then you said my feet were pretty. And there might have been tripping involved at some point."

"So- I just said that, right? 'Bout your feet?"

"You mentioned liking my voice. Then you sort of collapsed."

"Shit. I woke up in my bed, though. Fucking mother of all headaches, too."

"Serves you right. What were you thinking, David?"

"'Side from wanting to get wasted? Fuck if I know, Fancy."

"How could you be so – so careless? What if you had gone out and driven somewhere?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't, so –"

"But you could have! And what about your parents, what if they had come home and _seen _you like _that_?"

"Kurt, what – "

"Do you think they'd be proud? That their son would go and do – _that_? _Who_ gets drunk _alone _at three PM?"

"Fancy, calm –"

"Who _does_ that? Are you honestly _that_ stupid, David?"

"Hey, what – "

"What would your _mother_ say if she knew? If she knew – if she knew her son did things like _that_? I don't believe she'd be _proud_!"

"What, get shitfaced? Like _she_ never did. You really don't want to get her started on the 'golden years', trust me."

"No, I mean – ugh, David, I can't even talk to you right now!"

"Seriously, Fancy, _the fuck_."

"I'm hanging up now. _Don't_ call me."

"Kurt –"

"_Goodbye_, David!"

"God_damnit_, Hummel!"

"…"

"Seriously, what's your hang up."

"…"

"Shit. I guess we're done, then."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"I'msosorryDavesososorry."<p>

"Fancy?"

"I'm sorry. I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"'S okay."

"Of course it isn't!"

"Kurt – "

"I never meant to say all those things to you."

"I said it was okay, didn't I? 'Sides, it's like payback for one of those days I got on your case for no reason."

"I didn't want it to be payback."

"I know you didn't."

"Are we – "

"Good?"

"…yes."

"Yeah, Fancy. We're good."

"I'm sorry I took so long to call you."

"Figured you needed some time to vent. Don't worry, okay?"

"So… how are you?"

"Fine."

"_Da-vid_…"

"Shit_fuck_gottago –"

"What?"

"…"

"David!"

"…"

"What in the world..."

"…"

"Men!"

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Dave?"<p>

"Hi, Kurt."

"So. Do I get an explanation for yesterday?"

"… no."

"Really, Dave? _Really_?"

"Had stuff to do."

"Stuff? What stuff?"

"Laundry."

"… Right. Your socks couldn't stand _molding_ one minute more so that you could say your goodbyes properly?"

"… no."

"Pushy socks, aren't they?"

"Look who's talking."

"Are you saying I smell like your moldy socks?"

"No, I'm saying you're _pushy _like my moldy socks."

"So, are you saying I smell good, then?"

"I never said that, Fancy."

"Oh."

"Like you need _me_ to tell you you smell good."

"It's not like people are just throwing themselves off balconies everywhere I go to shower me with compliments."

"Don't you have a boyfriend? That's sort of his duty-"

"Of course. I only thought it might be nice to –"

"To _what_, Fancy?"

"Nothing."

"Sure."

"Is there anything we need to talk about, David?"

"You tell me."

"_What_?"

"You're the one who – look, Kurt, if you're all frustrated 'cause your _boyfriend_ isn't putting out, that's not my fucking problem, okay? Go nag Hudson."

"_Finn_?"

"Yeah! Wasn't he your fucking jock prince in red shower curtain or some shit?"

"He's my _stepbrother_. And I'm not frustrated. And I wouldn't ask _you_, anyway."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Fine, _David_!"

"_What_?"

"…"

"_Again_?"

"…"

"Well, fuck you, too!"

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Kurt?"<p>

"Finn! Look, I'm sorry, is this a bad time? And _please_, if you're having sex with Rachel, _don't tell me_. Just hang up."

"What? I'm not – I'm not having s-sex with Rachel!"

"Oh, good. For me, I mean. Obviously not for you. Unless you _don't_ want to have sex with her, which I would completely understand. But that doesn't sound likely."

"Kurt, you're doing that thing again where your voice gets like, really high and you don't make any sense."

"I am, aren't I? I'm sorry, I'll stop."

"Okay."

"Hi, Finn."

"Hi, Kurt."

"How are you?"

"Dude, you just saw me like, one hour ago."

"I feel like we already had this conversation a _million _times, but could you _please_ try and _not_ call me 'dude'? You know I hate it."

"But you're a guy!"

"And Rachel is a girl. Somehow, I don't see your chances of ever getting in her pants being enhanced by you calling her 'dudette'."

"Yeah, but – "

"You know, Dave was incredibly accommodating about it. I only had to tell him once."

"But that's because –"

"_What_, Finn?"

"He kinda wants to get in _your_ pants, right?"

"Finn Christopher Hudson!"

"Shit! You know not even my _mom_ calls me that, don't you?"

"Well, I felt the need to get my point across."

"Yeah, but I'm right."

"Moving on. Can you talk right now? I don't want my chances of getting any solos next year being crushed by my monopolizing you."

"Yeah, it's okay. I'm locked in the bathroom."

"_What!_? I don't even – _What_!"

"Rachel wants to use summer vacation to write more songs. She says I block her creative flow or something, so she is keeping me the bathroom until she finishes the refrain. After that, we'll make out."

"I would comment on the obvious insanity of the whole arrangement, but this _is _Rachel Berry."

"It's cool. Her dads gave me a muffin basket. They don't know I'm in the bathroom, though."

"O-kay. So. About me, now."

"'M listening."

"I screwed up, Finn. I really, _really_ did."

"Karofsky?"

"He's – I'm – Finn, I don't know."

"D'you want a muffin? They've got blueberries."

"It's like – It's like I don't even know what I'm doing anymore! These _things_ keep blurting out off my mouth; it's as if I have no filter whatsoever!"

"Why do girls _need_ all this crap?"

"It's his fault, I know it is. He's such a _boy_, sometimes. And then he talks to me like – no one's ever talked to me like that before."

"Wow, this stuff is _awesome_, Kurt!"

"And I _know_ what he's done to me and I can't – I know I haven't forgiven him, but – I think… I think I _like_ him, Finn, I think – oh, god, what am I _doing_?"

"Shit, crap, does this come out?"

"And _Blaine_!"

"Wait, what about Blaine?"

"Were you even _listening_?"

"Dude, you _have_ to see this bathroom."

"Yes… I really doubt it. And also, the 'dude' thing? It's not really working for me, Finn."

"_Dude_!"

"Are you doing it on _purpose_?"

"This shower!"

"Finn, you're _not_ getting in that shower!"

"But –"

"Finn Hudson, listen to me. You _don't_ want Rachel's dads to give you both The Talk after finding you naked in their daughter's bathroom."

"Crap."

"Right. Now step out of that tub."

"'Kay."

"So, back to me."

"Right."

"Finn, I can _hear_ the water running!"

"Oh. Sorry."

"I'm not against calling Rachel right now and demand she handcuff you to the pipes."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Okay, shoot."

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yeah."

"Where are your hands?"

"On my lap?"

"Finn…"

"So what about Blaine? I thought you guys were broken up."

"We're taking a breather. We both felt we needed some space to figure out where our relationship was going."

"Huh. I thought you'd dumped him 'cause you wanted to keep sexting Karofsky."

"Finn!"

"What?"

"Don't say that out loud in a room in Rachel's house which I'm sure has been fully remodeled to ensure perfect acoustic _everywhere_! Besides, we weren't texting."

"'Cause you're old-fashioned, right?"

"Finn –"

"Dude, it's cool, okay? I told you I talked to him after Prom, didn't I? He's really trying."

"_Prom_. After you got yourself thrown out for picking a fight with you ex-now-girlfriend's date and Dave ditched me on the dance floor?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I guess I do have a type, then."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Finn I don't – what should I do?"

"Wait, whoa! _You_'re asking _me_ for advice? Dating advice?"

"Not _dating_, just – yes."

"Oh. Okay. Crap. Dude, I don't know! What _are _you gonna do?"

"Forego men entirely. Run away to Broadway. Hibernate?"

"_Dude_. That'd be _awesome_! You know, sleep and eat whenever we wanted. We could get like, a bachelor pad!"

"Don't _you_ have a girlfriend?"

"Oh, right. I do!"

"Good for _you_. Now, back to _me_."

"Right. Look, I could ask Rachel! Cause, you know, _guy_ experience is not my strongest point."

"Come to think of it, neither is _girl _experience. And _no_, _I_ don't want Rachel's advice. I still can't believe she took you back even after our heart-rending performance of 'For Good'. Tell her that when she lets you out."

"Thanks, Kurt. Good to know my _brother_ has my back."

"Blood runs thicker than water. So do cheese stains."

"Dude, I said I was _sorry_!"

"Didn't your mother teach you that you'd better be safe than sorry?"

"I bet you didn't tell _Dave_ that when _he_ apologized."

"He didn't ruin my fourth favorite pair of white skinny pants for _life_."

"Nah, he just kissed you and then said he'd kill you if you ever told anyone."

"Touché. I guess I like him better than you, then."

"Not fair! You just like him 'cause he wants in your pants."

"Finn, have you _seen_ the kind of pants I wear? Considering how difficult it is to take them off, Dave gets points just for effort."

"Fine. Why don't you call him, then?"

"… you know why."

"Kurt –"

"I took advantage of him, Finn."

"Know what? I don't think he really minded."

"That's not the point! How would you feel if Rachel got you drunk to have sex with you?"

"I –"

"Wait, don't answer that."

"Dude, it's not like _you_ got him drunk and made him have phone-sex with you. Ugh."

"What?"

"This is just… really weird. I feel like I should go break his legs or something."

"You're a good brother, Finn."

"Thanks, Kurt!"

"However, being that I'm actually _older_ than you, I do believe the role of overprotective big brother has been miscast."

"Dude, I'm totally the big brother."

"If it makes you happy. Look, I should go. Gather some manly courage and face the music. We haven't talked in three days; I can't put this off any longer."

"You mean you're gonna do the nasty with him _again_?"

"Finn!"

"Only if he's drunk, then."

"No! I – _later_, Finn."

"Use protection! Better safe than sorry!"

"Argh!"

"I make an _awesome_ big brother."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Fancy?"<p>

"Hi, Dave."

"Why d'you call me?"

"Well, you obviously weren't going to – no, wait. I'm sorry, Dave. There's just – there's a lot going on in my life right now and I keep taking it out on the wrong people. Which means I keep taking it out on you, really."

"Yeah, well, I'm no fucking saint, either."

"So. Friends?"

"… yeah. Yeah, friends."

"Thank you. I – I really don't want to lose y– I mean, our talks. They're very important to me."

"Me too. You – you're important, too."

"David, I –"

"We should hang out sometime."

"I – I thought we _were_. In a manner of speaking."

"Exactly! We should, I don't know, go somewhere. Catch a movie, or something. You could bring Mercedes if you don't really feel like being all alone with me in a dark room."

"Hum, I – I'd like that, Dave. The – the movie, I mean. And Mercedes is really busy these days; I can't seem to get a hold of her. So we could go alone. Unless you want me to bring Finn? Except, no. That wouldn't be a very good idea. I could –"

"I don't need you to bring anyone else if you're okay with it being just us, Fancy."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

"…Yes."

"'Kay."

"I really am, Dave."

"Good."

"It is."

"So, do you want me to pick you up, or…?"

"Actually, I'd rather drive there."

"Oh. Sure."

"I don't think my father would be very accommodating to me leaving the house with you, Dave."

"Oh! Right. He's sorta scary."

"He's my dad."

"He loves you."

"Yes. We – for a long time, we only had each other, you know? I guess we became rather protective of one another."

"That's kinda cool. Does he own a gun?"

"A rifle, actually."

"Shit."

"It's alright. It's never loaded… I think."

"Having fun, aren't you?"

"My dad's not going to kill you, Dave."

"He's just gonna maim me for life?"

"Of course not! Only a little bit."

"_Thanks_, Fancy."

"So, when are you free?"

"_Summer_, remember?"

"Yes, but it's not like I lounge about all day eating bonbons and watching 'Project Runaway' reruns. I _would_, but Finn's trying to compensate his lacking right foot with some very enthusiastic drums practice."

"So, what _do_ you do all day? You know, besides the obvious."

"David!"

"I meant _eating_ and _sleeping_, obviously."

"I'm sure you did."

"Not everyone has your filthy mind, Kurtie."

"_What_!"

"What?"

"_What_ did you call me?"

"Huh… Kurt?"

"_David_!"

"_What_?"

"You called me – you called me K-Kurtie."

"Oh. Sorry. You don't like it?"

"I – I – _Why_ would you call me that?"

"Dunno, just slipped out, I guess. Don't get your panties all in a bunch."

"Oh. Oh, okay. So, hum, I'll meet you at the theatre near the park tomorrow at seven, okay? I – I gotta go."

"Hey, what if I've already got plans?"

"Do you?"

"Nah."

"Then?"

"… I'll meet you there. G'bye, Kurtie."

"Wha – _Goodbye_, David!"

"You're cute when you're flustered."

"…"

"See you tomorrow, then."

"…"

"_Kurtie_."

"…"

"…"


	6. Give Me An Evening, Or Give Me A Night

**Author's Notes:**_Whoa_. The size of this thing. And it's only part one. I clearly had no idea what I was getting into when I got started. Anyway. I really hope you don't get too disappointed by this one; I'm already getting started on part two, the one I _really_ want to write, so... Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"David? What happened?"<p>

"Hi, Kurt."

"Oh, hi."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I've been abducted. Apparently the fabulousness of my outfits flashed up on some sort of extraterrestrial life form's radars. They're installing a chip on my brain so they can keep up with the latest fads."

"Wow. That's gotta be the worst excuse for getting out of a date I've ever heard."

"Well, I – wait, are _we_ going on a date?"

"Friends date. I mean, you have _Bland_, so."

"Oh. You just never mentioned it being a date, that's all."

"_Friends_ date. And it's better than hang-out-y… thing."

"Definitely."

"Kurt, I'm not – I know this isn't a _date_, okay?"

"You d-do? That's, huh, that's good."

"Right. Think those aliens might send you down for two or three hours? Chip or no chip."

"I'm ready to beg. If it doesn't work, I excel at hair-pulling."

"Figures. They're hairy?"

"They make Coach Sylvester look like a good hair day."

"Science fiction's been lying to me all my life."

"Oh, you poor baby."

"Baby, huh? Didn't think you two were there yet. _Wanky_."

"Get _off _me, Puck!"

"Aww, but I wanna talk to Karofsky, too!"

"_Puckerman_!"

"I'm so sorry, David, I should have gone to the bathroom."

"Is that Karofsky? I'm gonna have a word with him!"

"No, Mercedes, you're _not_."

"_Jones_? What the –"

"I'm not down with this, Kurt! I'm gonna have a talk with the boy before he drags you to some back alley and throws your body parts in a dump."

"_Mercedes_! Give me that!"

"Back alley? What kinda trip are you all on?"

"'Sup, Karofsky."

"_Hudson_?"

"Finn, I thought you and Puck had zombies to slaughter."

"Dude, I don't think you should be sitting on my back. _David_ might get jealous."

"You sleep only two rooms away from me, Finn, and I _always_ have a bottle of bleach in my immediate reach."

"Yeah, so?"

"Wrong answer, Hudson."

"Don't encourage him, Dave."

"Oh-oh, _Da-ave_!"

"I'm _warning_ you, Puck!"

"You know my offer to punch your face in still stands, right Karofsky?"

"_Sam_! Alright, enough. You, you and _you_, Finn, _yes,_ you too, go sit by the big shiny appliance in the corner that I call a TV and you call mothership. Mercedes, you go to my closet and make sure Rachel keeps her hands to herself."

"What about me, Fancy?"

"_You_ will stop your snorting right _now_ and shut up until I lock us in the bathroom."

"Hey, Kurt, I promised your dad I'd watch over you, I'm not sure he'd be okay with you and Karofsky –"

"Finn."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up!"

"Fuck, Fancy, you're buyin' me a new eardrum."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dave. Zip it, Puck. Boys, go sit. Girls, closet. And, Rachel, by closet I mean my sofa, with your hands on your lap and no other comments aside from 'Fabulous'. _Move_, people!"

"You know, if I was into dudes, that'd be seriously hot."

"Thank you, Puck, I appreciate it. Now sit."

"I'm very glad you have found an outlet for your homophobic impulses, David."

"Fuck this. _Berry_?"

"Rachel, what have I told you about personal bubbles? Mine especially?"

"That only Karofsky gets to hump it?"

"Alright, Puckerman, that is _it_. I'm gagging you."

"Kink– hmpf!"

"There you go. Get him out of my sight, Finn. And Rachel, sweetie, what is that _thing_ munching on your hair? Never mind, go to Mercedes, she'll know what to do."

"It's a headband!"

"Is it sentient? It just growled at me."

"Fancy, the hell?"

"Sshh, David. I'll deal with you in a second."

"I'd tell you to get a room, but then you actually _might_, so –"

"Sam, you're very attractive. Keep in mind that's the only thing standing between your face and a truckload of sulfuric acid."

"Going, going!"

"Good _boy_."

"Stop ogling the guy, Fancy."

"What, I should leave that to you?"

"If I told you I really was just checking out his jeans – "

"I would have to tell you that inept lies smell of knock-off Manolos and you _reek_ of cheap leather. It's not your fault, even. I get it; it's like my eyes are laser-guided, _all the time_."

"He's not _that _good looking. Bathroom?"

"Almost there. What _are _they doing, I thought zombies were supposed to be dumb and silent? It sounds like a slaughterhouse massacre in my living room."

"It ain't as fun if they don't squeal."

"…_Charming_. Alright, I'm safe. Just let me – and locked. So."

"Hi, Kurt."

"… you keep saying that. Hi, Dave. Why did you call me?"

"Felt like it."

"No particular reason?"

"Do I need one?"

"… no."

"Maybe I just like hearing your voice."

"Well, aren't you sweet."

"Yeah, well, I'm just tricking you into a false sense of security so I can chop you up in some shifty back alley."

"Mercedes can be… _intense_. David, really, is there something wrong?"

"'Course not."

"Really? Normally, a no-subject call this close to an appointed rendezvous means nothing good."

"You're the one who's gonna ditch me for some imaginary shaggy aliens."

"I'm not, you know."

"What?"

"Is that why you called? Did you want to make sure I wouldn't stand you up?"

"… no."

"Oh, _Dave_."

"Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not!"

"Yeah, yeah, so fucking funny, what a fucking riot."

"It is a _little_."

"Fine. Be seeing you, Hummel."

"Oh, and now you're sulking."

"I don't – I don't fucking sulk!"

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret."

"Another one of those, huh?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Forget it."

"Any other day I wouldn't, but you've caught me at a most unfortunate time."

"What happened? You know, besides your alien rave?"

"_Finn_ brought Puck over for a zombie killing marathon. I had a miniature breakdown over a small wardrobe malfunction and, in the face of my somewhat agitated state, Finn decided he didn't have the balls to handle it so he called _Rachel_ over to help me."

"And that is… bad?"

"Rachel Berry. Help me. With _clothes_."

"So bad, then."

"Atrocious. And then Mercedes, who's been cold-shouldering my calls for the last, oh, I don't know, _weeks_, showed up with _Sam_ in tow, with whom she apparently keeps running into. She's supposed to be helping me, but keeps sneaking downstairs to do god knows what. Or _who_. Then you called and they all decided it was time for an impromptu party in my room."

"Jones and Evans?"

"It's cute watching them trying to be stealthy. And failing miserably, of course."

"So, Fancy."

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Did you, huh, did you tell them 'bout – about me?"

"I – no. I mean, I told Finn."

"Fucking _great_."

"He promised he wouldn't tell anyone."

"Yeah, well."

"He didn't! With the crazy amount of blackmail I have on him, he would _never_, David. But Rachel… well, she has two dads. I'm going with imprinted gaydar."

"Puckerman?"

"No idea. Maybe Santana?"

"She – she wouldn't."

"Personally, I think he's bluffing. You know how he gets."

"Jones? Evans?"

"What? They don't know."

"Really? Your BFF doesn't know?"

"My whole life does not revolve around you, _David_. Besides, it's been _years_ since we had a decent girl talk."

"But Evans said – "

"Dave, it's fine. I promise. Whatever they do or don't know, they're keeping it to themselves. And occasionally taking the time to royally mess with me."

"Oh. You sure?"

"Cross my heart."

"They didn't – I mean, Puck and Hudson, they didn't seem –"

"Ready to beat you down, steal your kidneys and key a big "fag" all over your car?"

"…yeah."

"They're good guys. I mean, I already knew that about Finn, but Noah has really come through lately."

"Noah, huh?"

"Jealous?"

"Me? Not a chance. I've totally got the upper-hand on locker room measurements, so –"

"How cocky. No pun intended at all."

"However, _Bland_ – He might feel… inadequate."

"Blaine has no reason to feel inadequate about _anything_."

"You're lyin'."

"Oh?"

"You didn't – you and him, you didn't – _Fuck_, Kurt!"

"_David_…"

"See you later."

"We _didn't_, Dave."

"Like I care."

"It would be none of your business if we had, though."

"Yeah? Look, I'm going now, 'kay?"

"Stop being mad at me."

"'M not."

"_Dave_…"

"You know that's gonna stop working one of those days."

"I'll just have to think of another incentive when it does, then."

"Fucking tease."

"I'm only a tease if I don't go through with it."

"… right. I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

"Why?"

"'Cause I like my sanity just the way it is."

"Your loss. Hold on, someone's knocking."

"Better not be _Noah_."

"Not you too."

"'M just sayin'. You do have a boyfriend."

"…"

"Fancy?"

"…"

"Something I said?"

"What – _No_, Rachel and 'Cedes were at the door. I should go now. They _did_ come to help me. Even if in Rachel's case I'd prefer she'd just stick to the intent and leave it at that."

"Help you with what?"

"Nothing."

"Fine, be that way. See if I ever pretend to care about your problems again."

"You're a horrible friend. So self-centered and insensitive to my hardships."

"I'm awesome."

"In its original meaning, maybe."

"Low blow, Fancy."

"_Bye_, Dave. I'll see you at seven."

"And the aliens?"

"I've got three zombie-killing machines on my team. I would like to see the little furballs come up against _that_."

"Hey, do they all know – do they know you're going on a date with _me_?"

"Oh, are _we _going on a _date_ after all?"

"… you know what I mean."

"They know I'm meeting you, but I told them I would be using our time together to discuss our burgeoning PFLAG club."

"They bought it?"

"Oh yes. It helps that _that_ is one of my goals for the evening, actually."

"Thought we were gonna have fun."

"I can _hear_ you pouting, David. And we will. But I'm not backing out on this."

"'Kay, we'll talk it over. So, none of them thinks it's a – a date?"

"_I _don't think it's a date, considering the number of times you felt the need to stress that it _wasn't_."

"Fancy –"

"Going!"

"Shit."

"…"

"See you later, then."

"…"

"I hope."

"…"

"…"

"You're face's gonna freeze that way, y' know?"

Kurt looked up from the two belts he had been comparing, the dreamy smile he'd been sporting for the last ten minutes fading into a frown.

"Like what?"

Mercedes clucked her tongue and walked over to him, snatching the darker belt from Kurt's hands and putting it away.

"_Smiling_ like that. All the time. This morning, I check my phone and there's like, a hundred mini-freak out messages from you, so I come all the way over here to find someone took my best friend away and left some kind of pod plant behind. A dopey pod plant."

"I have no idea what you mean."

Mercedes shook her head, sharing a look with Rachel, who was sitting obediently on Kurt's couch with her hands folded on her lap.

"And you're going out with _Karofsky. _What the hell happened to Blaine?"

Kurt blushed, pursuing his lips and folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, if you'd returned _any_ of my calls from the last _week_, you'd know Blaine and me are no longer a fixed item."

"_What_?"

"_If _you had taken some time to text me back, you'd know I've been talking amicably to David for some time now, and that we're _not_ going out. We're friends; we enjoy spending time together. I don't see anything wrong in that."

"You _don't_?"

Rachel looked at their perfectly mimicked poses anxiously: both had their hands on their hips, their chests jutting out and their chins high up in the air.

"No, I really don't!"

"It's Karofsky! David _Karofsky_! A dumb, violent, homophobic _bully_!"

Kurt rolled his eyes and broke his stance, dropping his hands to smooth down the fabric of his pants in a nervous gesture.

"People change."

"Right. You wanna fool yourself like that, I –"

"_Finn_ changed, 'Cedes. So did Puck. And Lauren, and Quinn, and Santana. In fact, all of us did. Even _Sam_. Remember how he didn't join at first because he thought it would make him a loser?"

His best friend blinked and blushed slightly, all the aggression in her posture suddenly gone.

"Why did you – What does Sam have to do with –?"

"Mercedes, I know. I think everyone does, and if they don't yet, they will soon. You might think you're being discreet but you're about as inconspicuous as Finn's dance moves."

Mercedes pushed her hair behind her ear and glared at Rachel, who nodded frenetically.

"We didn't want – "

"To be just another statistic in the glee club's chart of doomed relationships? I applaud your effort, but there's only so much you can do. The truth _always_ comes out in the end, for better or for worse. And it's not always a worst case scenario; look at Tina and Mike!"

"Yeah, and look at Finn and Rachel." She turned to the silent girl at that. "No offence, sweetie." Rachel shrugged. "And Finn and Quinn."

"That's because my stepbrother has the lowest level of relationship intelligence aside from Mr. Schue. Look at Brittany and Santana."

"Kurt, they're not together."

"Oh, _please_. They're practically glued together. Besides, it's _high school_, Mercedes."

"I know! We're not, me and Sam, we're not making this out to be some sort of epic romance. But I _really_ like him, Kurt. He's such a dork, and I _love_ that about him. Besides, he's totally hot," she said with a nonchalant shrug.

Kurt smirked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the gigantic pile of clothing that had collected there.

"Preaching to the choir, 'Cedes."

She shook her finger at him mockingly, but her smile slipped as Kurt's grew when he took out his vibrating phone and read the new message. He looked up, the new sparkle in his eyes fading as he took in her stubborn expression.

"_Mercedes _–"

"Kurt, that boy made your life miserable!"

"_Mercedes._"

"Didn't you use to have bruises from all those times he pushed into the lockers?"

"Finn nailed my lawn furniture to the _roof_. He threw _pee_ balloons at me. Puck used to push me into lockers almost as much as David, to say nothing of the swirlies and the constant slushying."

"Still, I – "

"But we forgave them. I can safely say I love Finn." He rolled his eyes at his friend's expression. "As a _brother_, a real one. Why can't David change?"

"I'll believe _that_ when I see it."

"Who says he hasn't yet?"

"What, he gave you the same speech he gave us all in glee? That was all Santana, and you know it."

Kurt glanced at Rachel, who opened her mouth only to close it immediately after. Kurt shook his head in confusion and looked back at Mercedes.

"I have no idea what speech you're talking about, but I _believe_ in Dave. I know he can change. He already has."

The black diva sighed in frustration and held her hands up in surrender.

"Fine, Kurt. It's just – you've been acting weird lately, that's all."

"Well, you wouldn't think it was weird if you'd bothered with checking up on me _once_ during the last two weeks."

"So I can't have a boyfriend? That's it, isn't it? When _you _were all over Blaine, it was only "Blaine did this" and "Blaine said that" every time we hung out, and _now_ –"

"Of course you _can _have a boyfriend! And I wouldn't mind at all hearing you gush about him, Mercedes, but I haven't heard from you _at all_, so forgive me if you missed any recent updates in _my_ life."

Mercedes scowled and turned away, heading for the door.

"Fine. We've been here for two hours, tried every combo and then some, and you can't make up your mind. That's fine. But if that means your pre-PFLAG meeting with Karofsky is really a _date_, I don't want any of it, Kurt. Blaine is a really nice guy and I can't believe you're dropping him for that… _asshole,_ of all people. So I'm just gonna go downstairs and watch some zombies get their due."

Kurt glared at her retreating back and sneered, muttering to himself. Rachel eyed the boy cautiously as Kurt turned to his closet and started hanging back clothes in no discernable order. She got up, smoothing down her skirt, and walked over to him, placing on hand one his forearm. He turned at that, taking in her sympathetic look and the absurdly clashing gold star pin on her sweater. He sighed and put down the clothes he'd been manhandling.

"She's right. What am I thinking, of course he will never change as much as I need him to, how –"

"Kurt –"

"I don't even know what I'm doing any more –"

"Kurt –"

"Dressing up? It's not even a _date_, for all I know he'll show up in that letter jacket and those baggy, _awful_ jeans, with a slushie in hand aimed at my hair!"

"He's not."

Kurt glanced at her, his eyes a little wild.

"How would _you_ know?"

"I'm very observant. Also, I overheard Finn talking to you in my bathroom just the other day."

"You were _eavesdropping_?"

"He was very loud," she said, her eyes widening.

Kurt closed his eyes in mortification and let his head fall back slightly. Rachel smiled and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"It really is fine, Kurt. And you _should_ see my bathroom; I think you'd love it."

He chuckled and sat down on the bed again, patting a spot on his left; Rachel pushed aside a bundle of scarves tangled together and sat beside him, bumping their shoulders together.

"I'm so – _confused_, I think. At times I want nothing more than to smack him as hard as I can, which isn't much. And other times, I just want to –"

"What?"

"Sneak out at two AM."

Rachel's brow furrowed in bemusement and Kurt gave a little sigh, waving it off. She nodded to herself and leapt of the bed, plunging into the closet and starting to take out piece after piece, examining them with a critical eye.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"_What_ do you think you're doing?"

She paused and looked at him innocently.

"Helping you with your outfit?"

"_No_."

"Kurt –"

"Rachel, you're a sweetheart when you're not being creepily obstinate or sending people to random crack houses, but your fashion sense is below zero."

"I – "

"Your headband has a plush elephant head sewn on it."

"It's a fashion statement"

"It's a fashion suicide. In fact, fashion has left it for dead, and now it's just a poor, sad little plush elephant agonizing all over your hair."

Rachel pressed her lips together but kept taking out fitted sweaters and skinny pants one after the other. Kurt shook his head and took out his phone, glancing through David's old messages. Most of them were only one sentence long, simple things like "I'd kill for a grilled cheese" and "Laundry sucks ass", or "You know when someone trips right in front of you? And you tell yourself not to laugh right the fuck now? Yeah, that doesn't work", but they always managed to warm Kurt thoroughly. He skipped to the last one ("Milk went bad. Drank it. If I don't show up, you know what happened") and felt a familiar tug in his chest, something that seemed to pull in all the blood in his body and give it back a few degrees warmer.

"_'Cause when you're in love you do things you never thought you would."_

The phone calls were even worse. At first he had felt touched by David's words of praise, but thought it impossible to keep his temper in check when the other boy's easy trigger jumped at the slightest provocation.

"_So, if I it had been me joining glee club last year instead of Hudson –"_

Now, it felt exactly as if David was finger-banging his heart with every little sigh, with every ragged breath and every strangled syllable.

"_You're special."_

He had no control over himself, over what he wanted – and couldn't want. Every time he let his mind wander he caught himself replaying David's drunken fantasies; every time he let his _hands _wander – well, that was a different matter altogether.

"_You like it, don't you? That I want you so fucking much?"_

He had tried to convince himself it was only _lust_. Teenage hormones gone astray when they found no outlet in Blaine's controlled ministrations.

"_I really want to kiss you right now."_

That didn't explain the way his facial muscles hurt at night because he had smiled too widely and too much throughout an hour conversation with David, though.

"_I'm not sorry you don't love Bland."_

Nor did it explain the literal gut-wrenching feeling he got whenever one of them snapped and the call ended badly. And the blinding relief when they managed to patch things up again and again.

"_Don't… don't hate me. __Please."_

He started when Rachel shook his shoulder gently.

"W-what?"

"I said, why don't you try this one? I think it might be exactly what you're looking for."

He glanced at the clothes in her hands, surprised to see the outline of a well-put together albeit too soft-spoken outfit.

"I thought you wouldn't want to go _too_ casually provocative as it might suggest things you're not ready for. I also took into account that David is deeply closeted and might feel threatened by one of your more risqué choices. Besides, I think he'd rather see _you_ than your outfit." She tucked one strand of hair behind her ear somewhat nervously. "And the shirt matches your eyes?"

Kurt took the clothes from her arms and laid them out on the bed, caressing the silky material of the shirt with two fingers. Rachel watched him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Isn't it a bit… _bland_?," he said, fighting off the giggle bubbling up in his throat.

"Try it on."

He nodded and she turned around immediately, covering her eyes with her hands; Kurt rolled his eyes but smiled good-naturedly. Pulling up the pants he winced, berating himself for the extra slices he'd taken from the pizza Puck and Finn had ordered.

"_I'd get down on my knees for you, Fancy, and I'd suck you right through your tight little pants till you were coming in them."_

Kurt blushed; no, a hard-on was _not_ what he needed right now – the pair Rachel had picked out was already confining enough. He shook himself, going back to that one Saturday when he had come home from Mercedes's earlier than he was supposed to and found his father and Carole on the couch and – yes, it always worked so well. He put on the dress shirt with a pleased sigh, fingering the nacre buttons as he fastened them.

"_Love that shirt."_

_I love this one, David. I hope you like it. _

Looking back at the bed, he frowned.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Of what?"

"Of my outfit, that's what."

"It's all there."

"No, it – oh, turn around."

Never uncovering her eyes, she turned her head.

"Are you decent?"

"Rachel!"

She giggled and turned to him, smiling approvingly. He didn't return it, letting his hands fall to his hips and cocking his head to the side.

"Well?"

"What else do you need?," she asked, the corners of her lips quirking up.

He threw his hands up in the hair with a huff and pointed back to himself.

"Everything! I feel… _naked_!"

"I thought David would approve."

"_Rachel Berry_! You have been spending entirely too much time around my stepbrother."

She grinned and went to him, popping open the first three buttons of the shirt, letting the collar fall open. Taking one of his clothed arms, she rolled the sleeve up to his elbow, folding it there neatly. She did the same to the other one and stepped back, nodding.

"Now I feel _less_ than naked."

Rachel sighed noisily and took his hands, pulling him towards the full-length mirror. He wrinkled his nose and inspected his reflection with a critical frown: the clinginess of the dark blue silk shirt; the pasty whiteness of the skin peeking out from behind the collar folds; his scrawny, almost hairless forearms in stark contrast with the darkness of the whole ensemble. Kurt sighed internally. As to that, there was nothing he could do. If David was looking for tanned and buff he'd have to look somewhere else.

_And he might. You can imagine all you want through the phone, but when face to face with the real thing –_

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, shaking off uninvited thoughts. His legs looked longer than usual, though, since the line of the black pants went on uninterrupted by other layers. Kurt quirked his brow and turned, looking over his shoulder; he flushed slightly, realizing he was checking out his own ass and imagining it was from Dave's perspective.

"Okay, so you did an acceptable job. But, sweetie, you can't accessorize to save your life."

Rachel clasped her hands together, her award-winning smile flashing too bright for Kurt's poor mirror.

"But that's exactly _it_, Kurt! David already knows you have great fashion sense; he needs to see _behind_ that. No, leave those buttons alo–" she started, seeing him fumble with the collar. "There, three is just the right amount. One is too up-tight, two and you're a tease, three is confident and four is slutty. You'll have plenty of time for four once your relationship progresses."

"And five?"

"Well, do you want condoms to go with that?"

Kurt laughed and let his hand fall. He had actually been going for just one button open, two at the most, but he could see Rachel's point. He wanted to show Dave that he – that he could _be _all that the jock fantasized about and _more_. And even if Dave had mentioned liking his clothes, he did seem to think less was better.

"_Get you out of those fucking clothes, but I'd leave your shirt on."_

Maybe he should put on his _Likes Boys_ t-shirt. And take off everything else.

_Bad Kurt!_

He swallowed and went to the closet, taking out a belt and his shoes. He looked longingly at his scarves drawer but closed the door firmly, hiding the contents from view. He knew this wasn't only about him. He wanted to please Dave – not with some three-figure garment but with himself. It wasn't a fashion statement he needed today – he wasn't sure what it was yet, but it had plenty to do with Dave's laugh over the phone and the ghost feeling of his hands over Kurt's skin.

"Do you want him to kiss you?"

Kurt choked on his own indignation and stared at Rachel incredulously. She blinked and stared back, her face the definition of earnestness.

"Do I – Rachel!"

"Do you?"

"I – I – no!"

"Oh. Alright then," she said, moving to button up his shirt again. He batted her hands away with a huff.

"Stop it, you deranged hobbit woman."

"You shouldn't lead him on, Kurt, it isn't right."

"I'm not – there's no leading anywhere, here. We're going out as _friends_. He said so himself."

"Before or after you got him drunk and molested him over the phone?"

Kurt's eyes bulged and his mouth fell open.

"You – you heard that?"

"My house has got _perfect _acoustic."

"Your boyfriend is _dead_."

"And he kissed you? I'm guessing before you went to Dalton. Or was it after?"

He bit his lip and sat down on the edge of the couch, careful to avoid wrinkling his clothes.

"Before. He – that's how I knew about him."

Rachel sat beside him, turning sideways so she could see his face clearly.

"When?"

"The same week I went to "spy" on the Warblers."

"Oh."

"I'm not – I'm not cheating on Blaine, Rachel."

"If you were, it's not like I have the moral grounds to blame you," she whispered, casting her eyes down.

"I'm _not_. We broke up. I mean, we _said_ we were only taking some time apart, but we both knew exactly what it was. And no one will believe me because Blaine is _so_ perfect, and why would Kurt Desperate-For-A-Boyfriend Hummel ever give him up?," he said snidely, examining the shine of his patent leather shoes.

"I believe you," said Rachel quietly. "I heard you talking to David, Kurt. I _saw_ you. You had this look on your face… like _everything _he said was vital and you couldn't afford to miss out on a single syllable. And you kept touching your hair and your lips, and crossing and uncrossing your legs, as if he could see you. You were outright flirting with him and he wasn't even there."

Kurt put his burning face in his hands and groaned, making Rachel giggle. She got up and started folding and hanging his clothes, taking advantage of his distressed state to ignore the inflexible color vs. brand scheme. Hopefully, he would come back later that night so full of bells and fireworks that he wouldn't pay it any mind. She looked back at Kurt, who was now tugging at the shirt collar absently and took pity on him. As she rummaged through the remaining pile, her eyes caught a warm golden glow. When she rescued a trench coat style leather jacket, she smiled triumphantly at the phrase etched in bold sketchy dark gold letters across the front.

"You should take something warmer, it might get chilly. Here," she said, placing it over his shoulders.

Kurt looked up numbly and then looked down, grabbing the smooth lapels. His eyes widened and he glanced at her fondly, a steadily growing grin illuminating his face.

"I take back half of everything mean I've ever said to you, Rachel."

"Just make sure to pinch Finn the next time he so much as looks sideways at Quinn."

"Will do," he assured her seriously, fastening the jacket's belt around his waist.

"But you really should take it off as soon as you're with David, Kurt."

"_Why_? It's fabulous!," he whined, twirling around for good effect.

She laughed and clasped his hands in her own, pulling him to a stop.

"He'll be too intimidated. Dressing simple and showing some skin is not just about being sexy, Kurt, it's about being vulnerable. Which, in a roundabout way, makes _you _sexy."

He bit his lip and looked down again, his shoulders slumping.

"Really?"

"Really. Use your jacket, '_own it'_. But let David see you."

"What if –," he stopped himself, pulling away from Rachel and playing with the belt strap nervously.

"Kurt?"

"What if he _doesn't_ like what he sees? What then?"

"He will."

"You can't promise that."

"I can! Kurt, you're one of those people who could walk around in a dirty trash bag and still look like you just hopped off the runway. Why do you think that is?"

"I have flawless fashion sense and a perfect eye for color and fabric coordination."

"That too, but –" She hesitated and pointed at her headband. "See this?"

Kurt nodded with distaste.

"Brittany has one just like it; only it's a zebra head instead of an elephant."

He opened his mouth to protest then closed it, his eyes flashing in realization.

"So I get your point. Fine. That's exactly why I should be dressing up, not down."

"No, you don't get it. It's _you_, Kurt. Not your jacket, or your sequined pants or your bowties. _You_."

"Dave said he liked my clothes."

"Of course he does. Who doesn't?"

He just stared at her.

"Aside from ignorant homophobes who wouldn't know a good thing if they were slushied in it?"

"Point taken."

"See?"

"So, what you are saying is that I could wear nothing but a dish washing rag and David would still – he wouldn't turn me down?"

"Yes. I think turning you down would be the very last thing in his mind, actually."

Kurt clasped his hands together and grinned.

"Let's get this show on the road, then."

As if on cue, _Bad Romance_ started blaring from where he'd left his phone on the bed. He ran to it, making Rachel smile and shake her head when he almost tripped on the rug.

"Dave?"

She watched as he neatly put away the rest of his clothes, all the while talking animatedly into the receiver of the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

"I'm not spending our friends-date in the emergency room, David."

Rachel tilted her head in confusion as Kurt's eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

"I'm sure. Why don't you save it for later? We'll buy you a nice bottle of aged red wine and some crackers to go with it."

He smirked, his hip jutting out as he paused to access the state of his hair in the mirror.

"I'll buy you popcorn."

"_He_ should buy, Kurt. He did invite you," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hands when he brought a finger to his lips, shushing her.

"Too bad. Are you ready?"

Kurt shook his head in annoyance as he hung the last pair of skinny jeans.

"_David_…"

He grimaced slightly, closing the closet door with unneeded strength, making Rachel wince.

"No."

From the living room came a loud celebratory yell and Kurt slapped his hand to his forehead, recognizing Finn's battle cry.

"I've got an overprotective dad, an overbearing, self-entitled big brother, and plenty of jock friends who still feel incredibly guilty for not sticking up for me when I actually needed them to. Oh, and Lauren."

He smiled, tapping his lips with two fingers.

"You'd better not stand me up, then."

One of his hands went to his waist as he leaned against the wall and cocked his hip, his stance half of what Rachel had come to recognize over the years as the trademark Kurt Hummel 'Really, bitch? Really?' pose.

"Believe me, _Karofsky_, if you don't show up promptly at seven o'clock, my family and friends will be the least of your problems."

Rachel inched closer to Kurt, trying to remain quiet as she strained to hear David's side of the conversation.

"Let's just say I know my way around a car engine and leave it at that. You'll be up to your eyes in maintenance payments before you even get it running."

His lips quivered and he fingered a wayward strand of hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He bent his knee, bringing his foot up to rest against the wall.

"Mm-hmm."

Kurt tilted his head to the side, one of his eyebrows shooting up.

"Oh?"

His cheeks tinged pink and his eyes glimmered, unadulterated glee showing clear in his face as Rachel watched dotingly, all thoughts of eavesdropping forgotten for the moment.

"… why didn't you?"

He noticed her then and glared, waving her away. She blinked innocently and he narrowed his eyes, but whatever David was saying caught his attention.

"Oh."

Kurt swallowed and pressed his lips together, flushing hotly. A small, annoyed sound escaped from Rachel's throat, frustrated as she was by only being able to understand half of the conversation.

"I'm – I'm ready now, if you –"

"Ready for what? I honestly don't think you're ready for _anything_ so soon, whatever it is, Kurt," she whispered fiercely, causing him to bare his teeth and mime a growl.

"Oh. Oh, alright. Shut up, Rachel."

"No I won't! Do you want me to call Finn up? _What_ is he _saying_?," insisted Rachel, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"_Unfortunately,_ yes. Go away, you excessively talented pixie."

He pushed away from the wall and dashed for the bathroom, locking himself inside, leaving her behind him with her mouth gaping open.

"I was talking to Rachel, of course."

Kurt grinned as he sat on the edge of the tub, his right hand coming up to rest against his neck.

"I don't think anyone could ever mistake you for a pixie, Dave."

Rachel was knocking on the door, light but persistent enough to be infuriating. He cupped his free hand around his ear and turned away from the door, trying to hear David clearly.

"_What_? David, I –"

Kurt huffed. There he went now, raising up a storm over whatever his mind had gotten stuck on.

"_David_!"

Maddening, that's what he was. Such a… such a _boy_.

"You _don't_ want me to get mad at you today."

Kurt stood up, taking a deep breath, and risked a glance towards the mirror. As he feared, his face was blotchy; ugly, uneven red spots burned against his natural paleness. Personally, he blamed David.

"Because – oh, I'll see you later. I mean, in a while."

He reached for his moisturizer and started working on his face, trying to bring down the color a bit.

_Stupid boys with stupid hang-ups and stupid laughs and stupid sex voices._

"Yes?"

The jar fell on the porcelain basin with a harsh clash. Kurt turned around, searching frantically for some kind of Big Brother device.

"_Oh, shut up, you know you're perfect."_

He gulped as the memory filled his brain in surround sound and faced the mirror again, reaching down to grab the jar with trembling fingers.

"You'd better not be."

_The nerve of him. Stupid sexy boy with the stupid habit of saying the stupidest thing at the stupidest moment._

"_Bye_, David."

From outside came Rachel's muffled sugary pleas for him to unlock the door, but he ignored her. No matter how much of a darling she'd been so far, he'd rather converse with David with no interference. Even if the latter was being a complete poophead.

"Now?"

Kurt put away the moisturizer again and inspected his face closely. Marginally satisfied with the result, he stepped back and reached for the hairspray.

_What if he wants to –_

An interesting mental picture of Dave breathing hotly in his ear, whispering dirty little nothings while running his fingers through his hair came to him suddenly, making him grab instinctively for the cold edge of the washbasin before his knees gave out completely. His brain went into autopilot.

"You'd better not be talking and driving."

David's answer only worsened his 'problem'. Kurt's eyes bulged; it felt like his blood was being alternatively frozen and defrosted, then boiled over without mercy. A clear memory flashed back to him.

"_Alright, Bossy."_

_No_.

He couldn't.

_He would have said something by now._

If only to gloat or condemn Kurt's behavior.

"_What!_"

He breathed in harshly.

"_Talk to me, Kurtie."_

"David!"

Only silence answered him. Kurt stared at his phone in disbelief.

"_You look so beautiful when you beg, Fancy."_

The floodgates were open now – he couldn't get off this ride to save his own life. He pressed his back against the cold tiled wall and slid down, spreading his legs the second he hit the floor.

"_Inside you."_

Kurt gnawed at his own lip desperately and popped open the top button in his pants. He spied his jacket mournfully, but he had already worked himself into too great a frenzy to take it off now. Or his shirt, for that matter. He opened the other button and pulled his zipper down, bringing back a foggy image of Dave lying on his bed, hand reaching down to copy Kurt's movements, thrusting up his hips and moaning Kurt's name shamelessly.

"_Da-vid_…," he whispered, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he felt hot tears bursting from his eyes.

"_Wanna know what I'd do next?"_

"Y-yes," he muttered shakily, painfully aware of the possibility that Rachel might not have left his room yet. He rubbed himself through his underwear, throwing his head back when his thumb grazed the still clothed head of his cock.

"_Make me so hot, Fancy, hot for you."_

Kurt rolled his hips and slipped his hand under the waistband of his briefs, cupping it around the hard, impossibly hot flesh. He fisted his length harshly, willing himself to get it over with as fast as humanly possible.

He couldn't come like this, he realized with a start; he had no clean change of underwear in the bathroom. With a low whine, he pulled out his cock, harder than he remembered it ever being, and hissed at the sudden brush of cold air.

"_I'd push you up against the lockers, your fucking legs over my shoulders and I'd lick you clean."_

He rocked into his hand frantically, feeling himself twitch and jump every time Dave's low tones rang clear in his ears. His thumb brushed in steady circles just below the head, massaging the underside. He brought his free hand to his mouth, sucking in two fingers. His head banged against the wall as he imagined it was David he was sucking off; David's cock and David's fingers, getting them nice and spit-wet for the jock to push them against the hot, needy skin of his hole.

"_So fucking __**hot**__."_

His movements grew hasty and jumbled, desperation taking over. He let his fingers slip in and out of his mouth sloppily, making his lips shine obscenely with saliva. He bucked up, fucking his hand in earnest now, matching the rhythm to that of the two, now _three_ fingers fucking his mouth. His tong was lapping messily at them and Kurt shivered violently at the sheer dirtiness of the whole act.

"_Wanting me inside you, so I'd bend you over the bench and fuck you till you couldn't remember your own fucking name, Kurt."_

Kurt bit back a moan and pushed forward until he was kneeling on the hard floor, then spread his legs as far as he could with his pants still on and sat back on his heels. His head fell back against the wall as his long fingers slid out of his mouth with a wet pop; he reached back around his hips and slipped his fingers inside his pants, his whole body convulsing as they circled his hole, slicking it. One of them pressed hard against the tight muscle and he tightened his grip around his cock, turning his head to the side until he could feel the cool tiles on his feverish skin. His nipples were hardened little nubs rubbing wonderfully against the silky fabric and he would give the world to touch them, but there was no way he was ruining this shirt.

"_Naked and still wet from your shower –"_

"Ungh, _Dave_," Kurt mumbled, honestly not giving a single fuck if Rachel was on the other side with her ear stuck to the keyhole.

"– _squirming and twisting under me –"_

His hand was a blur on his cock; his finger was pushing inside, making him shove back to pull it in and then forward, fucking his fist with harsh, shallow movements.

"–_letting me put my hands all over you –"_

"Fucking _do it… _so hard, god, _David_…," he sobbed, licking away the salty tears running freely down his cheeks. His finger went in to the first knuckle, then to the second. He bounced on it as he could, riding his hand like a veritable slut.

"–_hard for __**me **_–"

"Yesss," hissed Kurt, letting his eyes flutter closed. The pressure at the base of his spine was unbearable now, the heat pooling in his abdomen spreading throughout his groin and inner thighs like wildfire. He spread the pre-come over the slit of his cock with two trembling fingers, shaking like a leaf at the slickness of it.

"– _moaning and begging for __**me**__ to touch you –"_

"Touch _me_, Dave, _please_… Want _you_… so much. With me, David, _please_… so full… so fucking hard and open for you…"

"– _to kiss you –"_

Kurt pulled away from the wall and aimed shakily for the floor tiles, feeling the tell-tale tightness in his balls. He was fingering himself to the point of soreness now, but the lines were so close that they had merged, and he couldn't tell the difference between pleasure and pain anymore than he could bottle up the whimpers flowing out of his mouth. He clamped down when the tip of his finger brushed his prostate at the same time his other hand twisted at the base of his cock.

_So close…_

"– _to fucking make you __**come**__."_

"_Fuck_, David!"

His back arched in a rigid bow as he came all over the white tiles, his vision whiting out for a glorious second. Regret and embarrassment immediately followed, spoiling his after-glow. He averted his eyes as he tucked in his softening spent cock and pulled up the zipper with unsure hands.

Kurt got up slowly, wary of his unsteady legs, and risked a quick glance at the mirror. His cheeks were a full-blown red and his eyes were bright with recently shed tears. Their tracks had long ago dried on his skin. He sighed quietly and moistened a washcloth, sweeping it over his sweat-damp face. A peek at the wall clock told him that no, he did _not_ have time to go through his usual skincare routine.

When he had achieved a certain level of composure he unlocked the door and pushed it open, dreading Rachel's impending assault.

Which never came. His room was deserted; his whole body slumped as the post-orgasm relaxation finally kicked in. He shook off the torpor, putting on the belt he'd forgotten on the bed and grabbing his wallet. With one last touch to his hair, he left the room and trotted downstairs.

The living room had been turned into a refugee camp over the previous three hours. Finn and Puck were sprawled on the couch, popping chips and root beer like the zombie apocalypse was nigh. Sam and Mercedes sat on the floor next to each other, careful not to step too obviously over the just-friends line. Rachel was curled in herself on the love seat, scribbling furiously on her lyrics notebook. Kurt smiled secretively and took of his jacket, draping it over his shoulder; there was something about coming his brains out on his bathroom floor with Dave's name on his lips that made him feel… well, _sexy_. He adjusted the collar, smoothed out any imaginary wrinkles and went to stand behind the couch, slapping Finn's greasy hand which had been close to leaving its imprint on it.

"Wha – Kurt!"

Rachel's head shot up and Kurt steeled himself for a hint, a flash of something on her face that told him she had hung around long enough to hear _anything_, but nothing showed. She smiled widely and held her hands to her heart dramatically.

"_Dude_," said Puck in a tone that made Kurt want to skip around the living room, flailing his arms in delight. He followed it with a long whistle; Kurt rolled his eyes and waved him off, hiding his glee at managing to get hit on by such an overtly straight stud.

"Kurt?," said Mercedes in a tentative tone. Kurt looked at her and mouthed 'later'; her expression faltered but she nodded. He smiled at his best friend and winked, making her giggle.

"I don't know, I'm starting to think I should call Burt and ask him to come home earlier –," started Finn, but stopped right on his tracks when he noticed the murderous glint in Kurt's eyes.

"Just try it, _Finn_. We're clear, right? Mercedes, you need to leave before my dad and Carole come back; he thinks I'm meeting you tonight."

"What are best friends for?," she quipped, and he took it for the peace-offering it was.

"Thank you, sweetie. Alright, I'm going now. Have fun, but Finn, if the house is gone when I come back, it's coming out of _your_ allowance."

"Dude!"

"_Dude_."

"Thank you, _Noah_, that's enough now."

"No, I mean – _Dude_. You sure you don't want one of us going with you in case Karofsky – "

Kurt sighed and rolled his shoulders, shaking his head at the former bully turned self-appointed bodyguard. He locked eyes with Rachel who shrugged and blew him a kiss, making him smile.

"_Bye_, people."

"Really, Kurt, we could –"

"_Nothing_, Sam, you could _nothing_."

"_Dude_."

Kurt laughed and skipped out, closing the front door softly behind him. As he got into his car he mused to himself that if he could get _that_ sort of reaction from such and out and proud heterosexual like Puck, he had to be able to squeeze one little compliment out of David.

He laid his jacket on the shotgun seat and started backing off into the road. The nervousness over meeting David face to face for the first time after their relationship had progressed so much was being easily buried under giddiness over meeting Dave face to face for the first time after their relationship had progressed so much.

"_You're like, the easiest person to love, ever."_

* * *

><p><em>- <em>If you want Dave and Kurt's full conversation, I'll post a miniature chapter with it before I post part two._  
><em>


	7. I Skip A Heartbeat

**Author's Notes:** Since most of you asked for the full conversation, here it is. It's super tiny, but I'm working _hard_ on the second part, so don't give up on me! As many were confused during Kurt's little... _love yourself_ moment, I'll explain:

"Kurtofsky" - Actual, in the moment conversation, be it face to face or through the phone.

_"Pirates" - _Something Kurt (until now, since the narration has been all from Kurt's perspective) is remembering from other conversations with Dave - unless it's something like "_What?_" or "_Why?_", which comes in the middle of a conversation and is obviously not a memory._  
><em>

_Karommel - _Thoughts.

Hope it's clear now!

I also wanted to answer some questions:

**mothamaeghan** : Thank you! I had already written this conversation before and I0m planning to keep Dave's thoughts to myself for a while, but I think we might see something of his brain (hopefully not literally) in the next part =) And no, they were definitely not having phone sex again (I _wish_), it was all Kurt's memories of other conversations.

**HPalto87** : See, I was afraid I'd be tying people's imagination down! I love writing dialog pieces, but I felt they needed this. So sorry for almost getting you in trouble! Dave's a goof, that's what he is. "Scathingly wonderful." - Best two word description of Kurt EVER. I'm writing as fast as I can!

**LizzyPoodle: **Well, that teaches me to keep any kind of liquids out of reach when I'm reading reviews -"nice and long"? I nearly died, but maybe that's just my pervy mind.

**dorydafish**: God, I'm high in love with your reviews. The bit where "Kurt was tending to himself" was completely unplanned! I was finishing their conversation and then Kurt started thinking about Dave and getting all hot and bothered and, well. But thank you! Sex scenes of any kind are the trickiest to write. About the Drunken Phone Sex moment, I think Kurt's still on the fence about it. He doesn't want to want Dave to remember, but... he might feel just a little bit put out if Dave doesn't. _Messy_.

And it is SO a DATE.

I _love_ Rachel. I needed someone to be supportive and someone else to voice all the reasons Kurt should watch his back. At first, Mercedes's was supposed to be the supportive one, but I wanted Kurt/Rachel friendship more. And Puck's the adorable one!

Awwwwww, you read those lines exactly how I wanted them to be read!

Nope, "Alright, Bossy." comes from the phone sex part. The problem was Dave called Kurt Bossy _now, _which he had never apart from that one time when he was drunk. Cue Kurt's freak out. The shower stuff was from chapter 3 (if I remember correctly, even I get confused), when Dave was _very_ sober and telling Kurt exactly what he would have done with him when he saw him in the locker room that time Kurt was playing as kicker. I do have stuff to do that I should be doing instead of writing free smut, but, yeah. I'm addicted to this stuff. And the next chapter will be at least as long as the first part =D

**jekyllhj7** : Too many people talking to one receiver - _trouble_. That's exactly how Dave felt, though ;)

* * *

><p>"Dave?"<p>

"Did you know that if you leave open milk in the fridge for long enough it starts smelling like old cheese?"

"I'm not spending our friends-date in the emergency room, David."

"_Really _smelly old cheese. French stuff."

"I'm sure. Why don't you save it for later? We'll buy you a nice bottle of aged red wine and some crackers to go with it."

"But I'm hungry now!"

"I'll buy you popcorn."

"You wanna be my sugar-daddy? Not sure I'm there yet."

"Too bad. Are you ready?"

"I still got an hour, don't I?"

"_David_…"

"'Fraid I'm gonna stand you up?"

"No."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Fancy?"

"I've got an overprotective dad, an overbearing, self-entitled big brother, and plenty of jock friends who still feel incredibly guilty for not sticking up for me when I actually needed them to. Oh, and Lauren."

"Shit, Hummel!"

"You'd better not stand me up, then."

"Aww, stop. You're makin' me feel all tingly."

"Believe me, _Karofsky_, if you don't show up promptly at seven o'clock, my family and friends will be the least of your problems."

"That so?"

"Let's just say I know my way around a car engine and leave it at that. You'll be up to your eyes in maintenance payments before you even get it running."

"Better go get ready, then."

"Mm-hmm."

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Oh?"

"I've been ready for three hours now, Fancy. Called you before to know if you wanted to meet a little earlier."

"… why didn't you?"

"You seemed busy."

"Oh."

"Fancy?"

"I'm – I'm ready now, if you –"

"Yes."

"Oh. Oh, alright. Shut up, Rachel."

"Fuck. She's still there?"

"_Unfortunately,_ yes. Go away, you excessively talented pixie."

"Kurt?"

"I was talking to Rachel, of course."

"Figured."

"I don't think anyone could ever mistake you for a pixie, Dave."

"You done with the fat jokes?"

"_What_? David, I –"

"Yeah, whatever."

"_David_!"

"… what."

"You _don't_ want me to get mad at you today."

"Why's that?"

"Because – oh, I'll see you later. I mean, in a while."

"Fancy?"

"Yes?"

"You look hot."

"…"

"Come on, I'm just playin'."

"You'd better not be."

"It's not like I can _see _you."

"_Bye_, David."

"See ya, Kurt."

"Now?"

"'M already in my truck."

"You'd better not be talking and driving."

"You're givin' me a lot of orders today, Bossy."

"_What!_"

"See ya, _Kurtie_."

"David!"

"…"

"…"


	8. Doing All I Can Do

**Author's Note:** Okay. Okay. Please, just let me hate myself a little for posting this now, instead of BEFORE this week's episode, really, because that was my deadline, because I knew I HAD to. But seriously, worst writer's block in my LIFE. Really. I had half of this already written down and I made the mistake of, you know, reading it and I hated it. Real hate. The burning kind. So I just decided to get it ff my mind for some days, that turned into weeks, that turned into months, so here we are, God, there are SPOILERS for Pirates of the Caribbeans: On Stranger Tides, for heaven's sake, I went to see the movie because I wanted Kurt and Dave to see the movie, so yeah. Hating myself.  
>But, at the same time, <em>in love<em> with this chapter. If you guys hate it, that's cool. If you like it, I love you. But I _loved writing this._

Okay, rant over.

If anyone stuck around for this, I don't deserve you. Really.

(And this is just Part One *facepalm*)

* * *

><p>Kurt put his car in park and just sat in silence after the radio had shut off and the purr of the engine had died down. Then, slowly and deliberately, he banged his forehead against the steering wheel.<p>

_Go home._

He should. He should _definitely_ start the car again, drive home as fast as legally possible, flip off any smartass comment from the squatters camping out in his living-room, climb into bed with a familiar-size tub of Chunky Monkey, and wallow in his own cowardice. And then he would sleep for a week.

_Sounds perfect._

"_You look hot."_

Kurt scowled. Imaginary Dave would have to do much better than that if he wanted to win over Kurt Hummel; cheap flattery was _not_ the way to go.

"_Shut up, you know you're perfect."_

Although he _was _getting there.

"_I love you, Kurtie."_

Of course, it was no heart rending, ten-page elegy; it was a drunken, snorted, nigh unconscious four-word confession. Still, it had managed to push more buttons and pull more on his heartstrings than Blaine's never ceasing flow of "I love you" ever had. Honestly, it was as if the dam had broken after that first afternoon and Blaine just could not get it under control. It had gotten a _little_ ridiculous.

It just.

It made no sense.

Kurt _did_ still want his happily-ever-after. His true-love's-kiss. His freaking soaring-finale-duet.

It just didn't seem very fair that the casting director had been drunk and more than a little high when auditioning his love interest, and had apparently assigned the role to a hopeless caveman instead of picture perfect Blaine Charming.

Because, if Kurt was to be completely honest with himself, Blaine's spark had been progressively drowsed between their well rehearsed – while slightly lackluster – _Candles _duets, and the anti-climax that was junior prom. Sure, he understood Blaine's reservations and had felt touched by his offer to dance with Kurt in front of an audience filled with closet-cases and/or hypocritical homophobes, and he really, _really _did not want to sound like a whiny toddler, but _still._ He had worked so hard on his outfit, and all that only to receive warmer praise from his painfully straight stepbrother than from his own _boyfriend_.

He wondered if it had caused any impression on _Dave._

After all, aside from bold fashion statement, a kilt meant one thing – easy access.

_Bad Kurt!_

And that would have meant no more zipper accidents for Dave.

_Bad, horrible Kurt!_

Kurt groaned and banged his head again. What was _happening _to him? He had resigned himself to being the nominal sassy asexualized gay friend to his girlfriends – at least until college. And it was alright, he was _fine _with it, it was safer, and cleaner and all around more _wholesome_ that way. Dave's kiss – he shivered, all the emotional baggage of the last weeks charging that memory to an uncomfortably high (and _tight_) level – had done nothing but strengthen Kurt's resolve to vow out any impulses more sexual than hand-holding.

Suddenly, Blaine. Blaine, with his easy touching and blatant flirting-that-wasn't, to a boy who, more often than not, carefully wormed his way out of any one-armed hugs from his stepbrother. So, yes, Kurt had jumped on that train and strapped himself to the steam engine, intending never to look back. Like in any self-respecting, cookie-cutter romantic comedy, after much trouble and misunderstandings, he'd gotten The Guy, exactly when he was on the verge of giving him up and moving on.

Blaine's hugs, Blaine's kisses, Blaine's strictly-above-the-waist policy and Blaine's habits of bursting any personal bubbles he might come into contact with had been the definite catalyst. That… and also the seven video files of softcore porn Kurt had stashed away under a pile of folders in his computer. Mostly fooling around – except for the one he'd actually purchased (which still gave him terrifying nightmares of his dad going over Kurt's credit card receipts), which featured things that still made him wake up at four in the morning with pre-cardiac arrest and ruined pajamas.

That, above all, might be one of the reasons that had lead to the ultimate demise of their relationship. In those dreams – or even in his late night awake fantasies (which had, over the last weeks, relegated all other daily activities to a neglected second place) – Blaine had never landed the starring role. Not even during their rather short honeymoon phase, and certainly not after he'd donned a fucking kilt to Prom and gotten no more than a chaste goodnight kiss for all his trouble – after _owning_ his coronation, he had really thought himself deserving of at least a little groping.

And, _whoa_, was David having an influence on him or what?

With that thought came rushing back those ten seconds he'd been on the imminence of dancing with David Karofsky, his mind still reeling with the boy's heartfelt apology and with how downright dashing he had looked in his crown and tux. He had shamefully anticipated the warm pressure of the jock's hand on his waist, his other hand engulfing Kurt's own, standing so close but not touching in a way that would have made Kurt's pulse quicken so wonderfully –

He shook his head and flicked a strand of hair away from his forehead. His memory was playing dirty little tricks on him, _again_, and it was _all David's fault_. He been much too busy holding up his no-fucks-to-be-given façade at Prom, and he had been scared, and angry, and downright murderous, but he _knew_ he hadn't given much thought to Dave aside from twinges of disappointment. _This_ was all Dave's doing, taking liberties with his memories, making him sigh longingly at thoughts of locker rooms. Not too long ago Dave had been _Karofsky_, and Kurt himself had been _fag_, and it would do him good to remember that.

_One more reason to go home._

David had been so sure Kurt would stand him up, so he wouldn't be disappointing him, not _really_.

"_You're kind_."

Lots of people were kind; nursing home volunteers came to mind.

"_And you care about other people's feelings."_

Kurt scowled, rolling his eyes. Imaginary Dave certainly had a way with buttons, didn't he.

"_You should just ditch me."_

He sat upright at that. What was he _thinking_? David had, a little suddenly maybe, become Kurt's _friend_, and here he was, considering standing him up over his own lack of an upright _spine_? No, whatever they said, Kurt Hummel was no coward; Kurt Hummel had worn ten inch Gaga heels and a _corset_ to school, for god's sake, Kurt Hummel could very well reign in his issues and deranged hormones if it meant being a good friend to someone who had opened up to him so completely.

Feeling suddenly empowered, Kurt grabbed his jacket and hopped out of his car, as sprightly as he could manage in his pants – Dave had better appreciate the effort – pushing doubts, issues and _Blaine _to the back of his mind. He hurried his pace, turning the corner to the parking lot he had so deftly avoided, wanting the advantage of spotting Dave first.

And good thing he had, because _oh boy_.

He felt heat spreading from his chest in every direction, pooling under the collar of his shirt, and he wanted to pop three, four buttons open, just strip off the whole damn thing at once. He could feel arousal and embarrassment in unhealthy, jumbled doses, and he felt it _physically_ too, his cock twitching uncomfortably as his face and neck started to heat up considerably. All that blood _had_ to be needed somewhere else – as if on cue his knees went on strike, and Kurt had to breathe in hastily to regain balance.

Now, Kurt was the kind of boy who _prepared_. He made lists, and lists of lists he needed to make – he had been halfway through an extremely complex chart for this 'friends date' before Finn had threatened to make dinner if Kurt didn't stop acting like a crazy person. Kurt had contingency plans for every cocktail of feelings David Karofsky might inspire – except _this_.

He should have known, he really, really should, because honestly, it was almost Pavlovian at this point, he would become half-hard just from Dave's ringtone. And sure, Gaga was fabulous and worship-worthy, but _still_, he did not think it was _her_ giving him boners.

Kurt sighed, determined to soldier on, but, with every step he took, the outline of Dave's lovely broad shoulders and even lovelier arms became clearer, and Kurt could kill himself for not anticipating this. He had always pictured Dave with his letterman (and that had been fodder for extremely graphic dreams where he would materialize under Kurt's sheets wearing nothing _but_) and the shock of seeing him out of it, leaning against the side of his pick-up like the prototypical bad boy who _really _just needed a little loving from a good man to be reformed, _that _was proving to be the death of half his neurons.

But those shoulders. And those arms. He could see tanned skin and hard muscle and _oh god_, was that his phone in his hands, the phone he had used to tell Kurt of all the things he might do _to _Kurt once Kurt gave him as much as a nod, and there his blood went again.

He bypassed rows of cars in a half-aroused, half-mortified daze, barely knowing to put one foot in front of the other, his mind replaying all those fantasies that had entertained him at midnight, and at four in the morning, and at noon, and that one time during dinner when he had seen one missed call from Dave and had to excuse himself hastily, shutting himself in the bathroom and screeching at anyone who might knock to just _stay away from the curry_. He hoped to deities he'd never believed in that this _thing_ would subside over the evening – he hated sleeping in his jeans but there was no way he could work a zipper around this particular situation. And he _knew_ he was a teenager and therefore allowed a level of depravity, but he had _just taken care of it_, damn it, he would end up in a padded white room if he didn't get a hold of himself.

Dave turned slightly on himself, his shoulders hunching as he toyed with his phone restlessly. Kurt frowned then stifled a gasp, rapidly calculating the time he had lost with his _personal time_ in the bathroom and his still personal but less messy time in the car, wincing internally as he thought of David waiting for him all that time, his barely contained insecurities probably giving him hell.

He suddenly felt lower than filth, knowing how close he had been to doing just what Dave expected him to, but obviously hoped against hope Kurt wouldn't. Shame and self-hate started gnawing at him, feeling much like the morning after _The Incident _– or, as Finn had grown fond of calling it, _Dude, That Time When Kurt Got Dave Drunk And Molested Him With His Phone_, not caring how inaccurate it was. Kurt squared his shoulders, breathing in and out a few times, telling himself that he _was_ here, that Dave had nothing to sulk and beat himself over for.

He stole a look at his distorted reflection on the window of the nearest car and started walking towards his date.

Non-date.

Dateable friend.

_Oh, what-the-fuck-__**ever**_, he thought with a mental nod to Imaginary Dave.

Getting nearer also meant getting a eyeful of lovely new details, like the exact measure of the curve of Dave's biceps peeking out from under the short sleeves of his button-up, or the tense tendon of his neck that looked lickable even from a distance, or the way Dave's hip was propped against the car's door accentuating what had already caught Kurt's attention thanks to Dave's thankfully not_-too_-baggy jeans – and okay, so Kurt was having a little difficulty with looking past the eye-candy factor. As his eyes traveled up – however slowly – he smiled sadly at Dave's bent head and slumped shoulders, feeling the urge to pat his arm empathetically, or just draw him into his arms and hold on for a while.

Depraved Kurt reared his head at that, but Rational, Reality-Bound Kurt brought him down with a little remainder of how his bathroom indulgence had already cost them a precious half-hour. To which Depraved Kurt would have responded with flawless logic that it was as much Dave's fault as his, for using that deep voice of his, and that audible smirk when he knew he was unsettling Kurt, and _Kurtie_, though the jury was still out on the extent of Dave's knowledge on that subject. Depraved Kurt _would_, but he was too busy ogling Dave's ass and the back of Dave's thighs, _and that is why_, Rational Kurt states primly, _that is why you never win an argument_, to which Depraved Kurt responds by broadcasting a replay of their three nights ago entertainment, at which point Kurt slaps himself mentally for almost triggering an internal bipolar sparring session.

He sighed quietly, draping his coat casually over one shoulder in the carefully rehearsed way he'd practiced so many times in front of his full-length mirror, and inched his way over to Dave's over-sized black pickup. Which, according to Dave's chance remarks, was most certainly _not_ compensating for _anything_.

Kurt's heart tugged painfully when he saw the jock take one last look at his phone before shoving it in his pocket with a worn sigh and a disheartened shuffle of sneakered feet. With a last swift kick at prudency, Kurt leaned one shoulder gently against the side of the pickup, jutting his hip out and cocking his head to the side.

"Hi, David."

* * *

><p>Dave Karofsky was fresh out of luck.<p>

Really.

First there was the gay thing, which, okay, biggest fucking joke the universe had ever played on him, but he was coming to terms with it. _Slowly_, but he was getting there. Porn helped a lot.

Then there was the Hummel thing – and, come _on_, he had honestly thought Hummel was behind the first thing, manipulative little bitch that he was, until he had caught himself checking out _Puckerman's guns_ of all goddamn things on the goddamn planet, and, yeah, that was it. _Mea culpa, _or whatever.

_Then_, as if it wasn't enough that Hummel was apparently _his_ type, was very much his type, he had to have it thrown in his face that he was _not_ Hummel's type, fuck you ever so much, that he could _never _be Hummel's type, that a fucking _Ken doll_ did more for Hummel than Dave could ever dream of. Except it didn't, right, and hadn't that been a blast, that he could have _that_ with Hummel if only he had been _nice_, if only he had held out on the slushying, and the body checks, and the general asshole-ness.

Whatever, right? He was probably better off without Hummel, anyway, the fucking fairy.

Right.

The fourth proof that Dave was the unluckiest asshole in the world, that the universe hated his guts, that he was better off _unborn_, was that he was _not _better off without Kurt, he was better_ with _him. It felt like he needed Kurt sometimes, not just for jerk-off material, but because the guy actually made Dave _like_ himself as a person, fancy that.

So, essentially, he was fucked if he fucked this up, and he was fucked if he didn't, because there was no way in hell he was going to handle being _just _Fancy's friend once they were face to face and within touching distance – _hell no, _not without a goddamn mental breakdown.

Yeah, the universe _loved_ Dave.

The fifth proof? There was Kurt _Fucking_ Hummel, smiling up at him coyly, as if it hadn't been _weeks_ since they had actually seen each other, as if he hadn't left Dave waiting for a whole _hour_, sure that Kurt had thought better or _at all_, that Hudson had come to his fucking senses and succumbed to the prolific porn industry of stepsibling love, that Bland had finally decided to_ man the fuck__up_, that Puckerman had taken in hands to show Kurt his other mohawk.

But no, Kurt was definitely there, in smoking hot looking flesh and blood, for once not dressed in a way meant for making rainbows cry, but still looking like he was worth the contents of the entire parking lot and then some. And there it was again, that mix of humbleness and awe, an urge to simultaneously punch a wall, burst into fucking song and kiss the hell out of Fancy at the same fucking time, so that was familiar, at least. As was the certainty that he would never, ever be good enough to earn _this, _no matter how much zombie makeup, red berets or shiny knock-off crowns he put on. As was the need to either drive off at suicidal speed like the coward he was, or claim Kurt properly, hoisting him over his shoulder for good measure, and making Hudson, Bland _and _Puckerman walk the fucking plank with swell new cement shoes.

Nothing new, then.

His mouth watered and he swallowed nervously as he took in Kurt. Really, didn't the guy have a rifle-happy father to tell him that _no_, no fucking _way_ he was going out dressed like a fucking harlot, so go back inside and put inha on that nice Eskimo overcoat I bought you, son.

"David?"

Dave started and gulped down a few incoherent ramblings, settling for a noncommittal grumble. He looked down to avoid Kurt's worried face – and wasn't that one of the perks of guys over girls, that there would be no boobs for his eyes to stray too, except Kurt seemed to be making up for it _hard _with his whole goddamn body – and his eyes fell on a speck of pollen dust on the smaller boy's collar.

Before his mind could tell his fingers to cut it the fuck out, they reached up to brush it off, and he'd meant to do just that, really he _had,_ he just hadn't expected the fabric to be so fucking _soft_, nor could he have guessed that Fancy would choose _that_ moment to break his come-hither pose and step forward, his chin brushing against the back of David's hand. His fingers were suddenly stroking Kurt's neck instead of his shirt, and, for a split second, just a goddamn glitch in the space-time continuum, he felt fucking _happy_.

He yanked his hand away. It was the locker room all over again, he was touching what wasn't his to touch, what could _never _be his when it was Fucking Perfect _Bland's_, and good thing it was, too. Dave could never be good enough for that, no matter how many old grannies he helped across the street, or how many god-awful stale cookies he sold.

He saw Kurt's lips part and, God help him, he had never wanted anything more than to be able to push him against the side of his car, Fancy's legs locking around his waist, his body arching up into Dave's, their mouths moving together, open and slick and _hot_, and he would kiss Kurt so goddamn hard he would be tasting Dave for _weeks_.

A car honked nearby and a group of teenage girls went by them giggling loud as fuck, yanking Dave out of his dreamland. He shook himself and jerked his head in the direction of the theatre. Kurt fell into step beside him as they started walking away from the parking lot, awkwardness palpable all around them.

* * *

><p>Kurt sneaked looks at his friend whenever he could, still not quite believing his eyes. Dave looked so <em>different<em> from what he usually did at school and, embarrassment aside, Kurt definitely approved. No letterman jacket, no Bullywhip's beret, thank Gaga – in fact, all things considered, Dave had dressed _up_. Kurt looked down at himself and gnashed his teeth, putting on his jacket while issuing all kind of death threats at Rachel.

"Are you cold?" Dave asked quietly.

"Yes," lied Kurt. "This shirt is a little on the thin side."

"Oh." Dave shrugged needlessly and looked away, his face coloring slightly.

Kurt sighed in frustration. It shouldn't be so hard –

_Oh, there has to be away to phrase that better._

- so _difficult_ between them. Their conversations over the phone had never stalled, so why should –

Kurt smirked winningly.

"Shit, should have turned that off, must be Az," muttered David when his phone started ringing in his pocket. "It'll just be a sec, okay?"

Kurt nodded, still smiling, one hand buried in his jacket pocket.

* * *

><p>David frowned at his phone and looked back at Kurt who was full on grinning now, his eyes twinkling. Dave shook his head and rolled his eyes skyward,<p>

but took the call.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Dave."<p>

"Hi, Kurt. Ugh, echo."

"Better now?"

"Fuck _yeah_. You're mental."

"Did I ever mention exactly how golden my payment plan is?"

At that Kurt faltered. He _had_ mentioned that, only Dave wasn't supposed to remember. He shot him a sideways look but the jock was still shaking his head at him while smiling widely. Kurt melted a little.

"So, we're just gonna…"

"They might take away our phones at some point during the movie. But I say we live dangerously."

"Pshyeah."

"Danger is my middle name."

"No it's not, it's E- something."

"_How _would you know _that_?"

"You signed one of your French tests Kurt E. Hummel."

"Really? Wait, how do you know? You weren't cheating off of me, were you, _David_?"

"_Me_? Never."

Kurt huffed when Dave stuck the tip of his tongue out playfully.

"Then why were you looking at my test?"

"I was looking at _you_ – y'know, anything's better than a fucking French quiz – when you got up to hand it in. _Satisfied_?"

_Not even close._

_Bad Kurt!_

"I guess that can be excused, then."

"Attention whore."

"Not a whore if it's being given away freely, am I?"

Dave smirked and held the door open for Kurt, who narrowed his eyes but accepted the gesture for its intended value.

"I really hope you're not under the delusion that I'm the _girl_ here, David."

"Hey, like I would cheat on my girlfriend like that."

"You and Santana are still –"

Kurt cupped his chin and slid his hand down as if stroking a beard. Dave let out a muffled laugh.

"Nah, she dumped me after Prom or something. Said they wouldn't allow me at the lesbian colony, anyway."

"I don't know, you might fit in. Some of them can be quite butch."

"Stereotyping much, Fancy?"

"Touché. So – movie?"

"Y'know, people are kind of staring now."

"As if none of them ever carried on a phone conversation within a two feet distance of the other person."

"I _know_, right? Snobs."

"Hypocrites."

"Wanna hang up?"

Kurt chuckled and nodded.

"I'll do it first. To even out the score on the times you hung up on me."

"I don't know. You ain't got no clean rep sheet there, Fancy."

Kurt mock-gasped and waved at his own face.

"See this, Dave? This is the face of flawless politesse. I would never hang up on _anyone_. Except if they _really _deserved it, obviously.

"Obviously. Go on, then, I know you're itching to give me just desserts."

"Oh, like this it's no fun. You should get me a little mad first."

"… yeah, cause that makes sense. I get you mad, you bitch my head off and _then_ hang up on me. Not really seeing how that works out well for me."

"Revenge, remember? Supposed to satisfy one party and leave the other wallowing in frustrated resentment."

"A lot like sex, then."

"Oh?"

"Straight sex, I mean."

"And you would know _that _because..."

"That's what my sister's rommie always says."

"Roomie? I thought you had a _younger_ sister."

"Nah, that's Alex. Y'know, twelve, bitchier than you, and supreme ice queen in training. Em, Emily, she's in college now."

"… bitchier than me?"

Dave smirked as they both leaned against the wall.

"She'd like you."

"I'll assume that you love your sister dearly and take that as a compliment."

Dave gave him a small embarrassed smile and looked away, eyes fixing on the placard of movies showing that week. Kurt felt the familiar heat and pull fire up somewhere inside his ribcage, and heaved a little sigh that David mightn't have caught if it wasn't for the phone.

"Fancy?"

"S-sorry. I- I kind of drifted off here."

"Oh."

David was staring at him now, his brow furrowing slightly."

"Anything you like?"

"Wh-what?" stammered Dave, his face glowing red as his eyes widened and he looked away hurriedly. Kurt raised his eyebrows, dumbfounded at this new development.

"The _movies_. Is there any you'd rather-"

"Huh. Oh, I, yeah. Yeah, kinda, but we don't have to if you don't want, we could –"

"_Which_ one, David?"

"Hum, pirates?"

Kurt's left eyebrow quirked up and he grinned toothily.

"Aye, aye, captain!"

Dave laughed, full-bellied and carefree, and Kurt felt his toes curl at the sound, the reflex travelling up to the pit of his stomach and expanding deliciously.

"Sorry, Fancy. 'S just – y'know, you don't… you don't seem the pirate type, that's all."

"Oh, _really_? What type _am _I, then, David?"

"I always thought you were kinda like a ninja."

"A _ninja_?"

Dave grimed, gesturing wildly.

"Yeah, cause, see, you're sneaky and like, totally ninja fast, and you seem really tiny when you're not all up in my face, trying to poke my eye out with your finger."

"I'll have to up the voltage on my outfits, then, if you think I'm conspicuous enough to pull off a ninja act.

"Well, you did it tonight, didn't you?" pointed out Dave, embarking Kurt's outfit with a wave of the hand not holding his phone.

_Rachel Berry, off with your head!_

"So sorry to disappoint."

"_What_?"

"I apologize for not meeting your standards."

"Seriously, Hummel, what _is_ your hang up?"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Shit, see? We're fighting. Again. Gonna put me out of my misery now?"

"I –"

"Your clothes are _fine_, Kurt."

"God, _fine_. If by fine you mean they're so _beige_ you could lose me in a crowd – "

"_No one_ could lose _you_ in a crowd. You just – you stand out, okay? Cause you're _you_. Hell, I bet they couldn't tone you down at Bland's robot school."

"You'd be surprised," snapped Kurt drily.

David glanced at him with guarded, serious eyes, his hand twitching nearer to Kurt's.

"Guess you wouldn't make that good a ninja, then. But I bet you could put on an awesome disappearing act."

"What do you mean?"

Dave shrugged, staring up at the dirty blackened ceiling.

"Keep expecting you to just take a good look at me and bolt."

"_Bye_, David."

"What?"

Kurt glared at him, arms crossed over his chest, his phone clipped shut in one hand. David dropped his hand down and glared back.

"The fuck, Hummel!"

"You were being ridiculous. And I was getting mad really, _really_ fast, so I figured it was as good a time as any," snipped Kurt, pursuing his lips and cocking his head to the side.

"Kurt, jus' – just look at you. Just take a fucking good look at you. I mean, if, fuck, if only half the people in this cow town weren't so goddamn backward, you'd be fencing of guys falling to their fucking knees to let you step on them." Dave licked his lips, shaking his head at Kurt's skeptical look. "How you haven't turned the whole fucking school gay for you I can't figure. I mean, just, _fuck._"

Kurt snorted, his head still reeling from the half hissed compliments. At least he hoped they were compliments, and not David's incredibly misguided way of insulting him.

"You can't _turn_ anyone –"

"_Gay_, I know, been there, fucked that, but –"

"No, David. _I _have been there, _tried_ to do that. That kind of belief is what causes straight guys to run for the disinfectant spray if we accidentally brush shoulders in the hallway."

"Yeah, well, Hudson's a blind moron –"

"I would _appreciate_," said Kurt in a clipped tone, unable to stop the corners of his lips from tugging up, "if you toned down the insults to my stepbrother."

Dave growled lightly, making Kurt shiver a little more than he would like, and pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand in front of him, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists beside his hips.

"_Why_? He was just as much an asshole to you as Puckerman, or any other jock! He's just as bad as the rest of us, me fucking included! You shouldn't, shit, you shouldn't waste your time on him, Kurt, he's not fucking worth the fucking ground you walk on, okay, so why do you –"

Kurt held up his hand, halting David mid-speech.

"You mean _you_? _You_'re not worth the ground I walk on?"

Dave set his jaw and looked down.

"I'm – I'm scum, Kurt. I thought I could, I don't know, I never fucking know what I'm – make me better, you think you can, but you _can't_, Christ, you're too –"

"Dave, _stop_."

"Too good for –" mumbled Dave miserably, "I mean, just, just fucking look at you."

He spread his hands out between them, as if he could illuminate the difference between the both of them.

"David, I'm serious –"

"You're so out of anyone's league here that you might as well be batting for the other team."

Kurt saw red.

_How dare he –_

He pushed himself off the wall, smoothing down his pants with jerky movements.

"Where –" started Dave quietly.

"See, this is exactly why I'm glad I brought my own car. This way I can do a proper storm off and leave all the awkwardness to you!" he spat, barely managing to rule in his temper.

"Kurt –"

"No, you don't get to – Well, this has been just _lovely,_ hasn't it? I mean, I'm so happy you know enough about _me_, about _my_ own feelings, about _my _mind, that you can just go ahead and make all the hard decisions for me! It's so much simpler this way."

"Jesus, Fancy, that's not –" risked Dave, his eyes widening as Kurt just ranted away.

"No, no, I get it, I absolutely get it, _David_. You get to make all the calls, and badmouth friends I happen to like_ very much_ all you want, it's _your_ fucking prerogative. I'll just stand here and look pretty, shall I?"

"Look," hurried out Dave, before Kurt could regain his breath, "I'm sorry 'bout Hudson, okay? I wasn't – fuck, I know he's your friend, I just –"

"And what makes you _think_ I was talking about Finn, hmm? What gave you _that_ idea, was it your supernatural insight into my brain, or –"

"Goddamn it, Hummel, give it a rest already!"

"I was talking about _you_, you – you _jerk_! I'm sick of it, I'm so _over_ listening to you degrade yourself like that, and if I thought for one second that I could beat you in a fistfight, Karofsky, you'd be _on_."

Dave just looked at him, his mouth gaping open. Kurt rolled his eyes, feeling the fury ebbing out of him in waves, a vague frustration and something a bit like longing filling the void.

"Well?" he said, a finger reaching up to poke Dave's chest.

The jock licked his lips, his gaze alternating between Kurt's finger on his breastbone and Kurt's slightly open mouth. Misunderstanding the silence for obstinate sulking, Kurt scowled and poked him again.

"Shit, Hummel, cut it out!"

"I will as soon as you apologize."

"For insulting your_ friend_?" asked Dave lightly, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Kurt nodded tightly.

"A friend you like _very much_?"

The singer's crossed expression slipped a little at that, his finger shaking slightly where it still rested just over Dave's furiously beating heart. He nodded again, slowly.

"Do you _like_ me very much, Kurt?"

Dave's eyes met Kurt's own insistently, and Kurt, much to his dismay, found it impossible to look away. He felt pinned to the spot by those warm hazel eyes, an expression he had, until now, never fully understood.

"Do you?"

Dave was so close Kurt could feel his breath in his cheek, how could he be so close, Kurt's finger was still on his chest, they had to be at least one foot apart. He looked down – his whole hand was now splayed over the thin fabric of Dave's t-shirt, his palm pressed against a firm, warm, wonderfully _male_ chest, his blood humming along to the drum of Dave's heartbeat.

He looked up to find Dave's heavy lidded eyes inches away from his own. The taller boy was staring openly at Kurt's mouth now, the tip of his tongue sneaking out now and then to wet his lips. Kurt swallowed an embarrassing whimper as he felt one of David's big hands rest on his hip, drawing him _closer_ if possible, the knuckles of his other hand brushing tenderly over Kurt's cheek.

It might have been the locker room all over again, only it wasn't, god, it _wasn't_. It didn't smell of dirty socks and stale sweat, it smelled of Dave's faint aftershave, no-brand soap and _skin_, something musky and spicy-hot and so decisively _male_ again that Kurt's head was spinning, and if he could only get a hold of himself for a moment he would be climbing this boy like a fucking _tree_.

Those were Dave's strong, callused hands, made for holding a football and a hockey stick and Kurt's face in them. Those were Dave's eyes, shadowed in the dim, purplish light of the theatre bar, boring down on Kurt's own, equal parts of naked hunger and desperation swimming in them. That was Dave's chest under his fingertips, Dave's lips mere inches from his, Dave's _want_ and Dave's _need_, fierce and real and out in the open for Kurt to take and do as he pleased, and he _would_, he _so_ would, because this wasn't Karofsky stealing his first kiss, this was Dave –

"_I love you, Kurt."_

- this was _Dave_ begging for a kiss with every word he wouldn't, couldn't say, and this was to revulsion what gourmet cuisine was to Finn's grilled cheesus.

Kurt let his eyes fall shut and clenched his hand on the fabric of Dave's shirt, and focused on being good, being the best fucking kiss Dave will ever have. His forehead was furrowed in concentration, and he was _ready_, the pounding of his own heart loud in his ears.

* * *

><p>Because Nature's laws are what they are, and symmetry, and shit Dave doesn't know to care about, this is the sixth proof of the universe hating him, right here, in Kurt's scrunched up panicked expression and strung-out body.<p>

Fuck him. Fuck Hummel for looking so goddamn kissable like that, eyes screwed shut as if waiting for a fucking punch in the face, his fist tight on Dave's shirt, so tight he could be pulling him closer if Dave didn't know better, if he wasn't so fucking certain that this. Is. Reality.

Not a goddamn wet dream.

So he pulls away, of course he does, Dave is a good boy, he's trying to be a nice guy from the boy he was, and his hand slips down from Kurt's burning face.

He feels cold.

He feels so fucking _cold_, and alone, and blown out of his goddamn mind, so he blinks once, twice, and coughs, putting as much space between them as he can without seeming, well, rude.

"So, huh, pirates?" he whispers hoarsely, because words hurt in his throat, everything that isn't Kurt's skin and Kurt's lips and Kurt's eyes hurts him. He's just hoping, he's praying under his breath that Fancy will let this one slide, that he'll understand, he's so fucking understanding all the time, right, it usually skins Dave raw, but he'd give both his thumbs for a bit of that now.

Kurt gapes at him a little and Dave braces himself. No rant comes out this time, though. It seems like kissing Dave – or the threat of it, anyway – is the key to shutting him up. Thank God for small favors, or something.

"I'll go get the tickets then," David says, one breath away from a nervous breakdown, his eyes stubbornly fixed on a nasty looking spot on the wall behind them. "You can get the popcorn. I mean, if you want. I know – I know I _asked_ you, but this isn't, this isn't a –"

"A date," breathes Kurt, and for a second, for just one tiny fucking second Dave thinks –

No fucking way.

"Yeah. So –"

"You get the tickets, I'll get the popcorn, and we'll split dinner."

Dave's eyes widen, and he's so stunned that he forgets his resolve and stares at Kurt in wonder.

"You want to – dinner?"

"Well what did you expect?" snaps Kurt, making Dave swallow because, yeah, that totally isn't hot _at all. _"I hate cooking late at night, makes me have Master Chef nightmares. And I'm absolutely _not_ making Carole get up and fix me something. We'll go to Taco Bell, or that McDonald's down the street."

Dave stares some more before reminding himself that no, he's not a goddamn fish, and he can just _feel_ the sappy grin stretching across his face.

"You mean you don't – you _really_ want to stay after the movie?"

"Go see to those tickets, David, before there is no movie for me to stay after," cuts Kurt, and his tone is still sharp and he's rolling his eyes – but he is _rolling his eyes_ and _bitchying_ at Dave, so something _must_ be okay, maybe Dave hasn't fucked _everything_ just yet. He smirks at Kurt who just huffs and waves him away, and if Dave isn't exactly _happy_, he's damn close to it.

* * *

><p>"Oh my God, Fancy, you're totally the mermaid."<p>

"I will _hurt_ you."

"Shut up, you totally _are_."

"Karofsky, you are treading on _very_ thin ice here."

"'_I don't ask for help!'_

"You didn't seriously memorize the dialog, did you?"

"_You protect –_"

"You _memorized_ the dialog."

"By the way, that last one? Would have gone down _real_ nice with me. Some appreciation for the muscle behind the Bullywhips and all."

"Lalalalala, can't hear you!"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop, don't get your panties in a bunch."

"You ran out of lines, didn't you?"

Dave grinned impishly and, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, started to hum.

"Oh, kill me _now._ Now, wait, pluck out my eardrums and _then_ kill me. Seriously, if I never hear that song again in my _life_ it will be too soon."

"Aww, Fancy got scared of the pretty mermaids."

"I don't know what movie _you _went to, but I saw _teeth_. _Canines_ where canines do _not _go."

"You're kinda grabby when you're pissing yourself in terror, d'you know that?"

"Shut. Up."

"Seriously, it's like claw marks on my arms. _All _over. Creepy shit."

"They were mermaids. Mermaids! I mean, Ariel! _Under the Sea! _Where were the jazzy sea-folk, hmm?"

"Ssshh, Fancy, it's okay. They're gone now."

Kurt quirked one deeply annoyed eyebrow at Dave.

"Well, at least _you_ had fun."

"Mermaids, dude. Fucking mermaids."

"Oh?"

"How does that _not_ spell awesome to you?"

"Man-eating _mermaids_."

"Hell yeah!"

Kurt chuckled and tugged on the hem of Dave's shirt, steering them in the right direction. Dave let him, still feeling buzzed after two and a half hours sitting in the dark with Kurt. And the man-eating mermaids.

"You have no self-preservation instincts, do you? They would have a field day with you."

"Nah, see, there's the awesome part, cause, y'know, I wouldn't be, right, I wouldn't be like those guys, I would be like "Yo, mermaids!" and they'd be like "Gimme a smooch, stud!" and I'd be like "Hell no!" and they'd be like –"

"Ohmygod, stop, please, I think I just burst an artery –"

Dave smirked as Kurt bent over with his hands on his knees, shaking and wheezing.

"And they'd be like –"

"Shut. The fuck. Up. David!"

"Okay, okay, don't hate."

"Gaga help me, if I hear the word mermaid come out of your mouth one more –"

"Mermaid."

Kurt lunged.

Or he tried to, but Dave caught him around the waist and took one step back, still holding a kicking Kurt away from his body. Kurt was half hysterical laughs, half murderous rage, and his arms were flailing, trying to hit Dave _anywhere_, and Dave was grinning, wide and open, his hands tight on Kurt's waist, and if each of them had presence of mind a thought my have crossed them, _This, right now, is happiness._

"Well, this is fun."

Dave's grin fell almost in slow-motion, at the same speed of Kurt's arms as both their heads snapped up at the words.

Kurt blinked and swallowed drily.

"B-Blaine?"


	9. Just To Be Close To You

**Author's Note:** Argh. Okay, that's it for non-dialog exclusive chapters for a looong time. I mean, I started writing this fic to relax and get inspired for "Who Said Anything About Falling In Love" and now that one is practically abandoned, and this one is getting a little to epic for my taste. Anyway.  
>I have half a dozen different convos prepared for next chapter: KurtRachel, Kurt/Blaine, Dave/Santana (and that made me wish I could write Brittany but I just don't dare) and Kurt/Dave, obviously. Feeling all warm and cozy inside with the reviews this is getting (which are in every way AWESOME), I'm giving you guys the right to choose the convos you want: just Kurtofsky, cause you're sick of everyone else, Kurtofsky+Kurt/Rachel, or Kurtofsky+Dave/Santana, etc, or Kurtofsky+all if you're clinically insane. Like me. God, obviously, like I _need_ anything else on my plate.

**awkward innuendo:** "just kiss Dave already!" - THAT'S ME, writing this fic. Seriously.

**cornflakesareglutenfree:** Oh please, not the guilt-trip! I've been punishing myself _hard_ over this, believe me. "you are one of the reasons i became a pirate" - I don't even know what to say to that, but it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, it really did. And, haha, the references, I couldn't help myself, this fandom is gold.

**Dare91:** Hmm, maybe this will get Blaine back on your good graces? *winks*

And to all the reviewers, and story alert button pushers, and, well, every one who has taken the time to just _read_ this, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Seriously, no words.

* * *

><p>"Kurt."<p>

"Kurt?"

The crumbling of Kurt's entire world?

It's as simple as that.

Because it sure feels like it, with Dave's worried eyes on him, one of his hands still brushing Kurt's waist, that slight tilt at the end of Kurt's name that sounds like uncertainty and insecurity, and hope and blind _trust,_ all at the same time.

Blaine, of all people in Lima, of all people in the _world_, it had to be _Blaine_ walking into their theatre, it couldn't have been Santana, or Azimio, or the hockey team, or _Barbra Streisand_.

Kurt Hummel _prepares_, but his lists and his charts did not prepare him for Dave tonight, and they certainly did _not_ prepare him for this sort of third degree encounter. He doesn't know what to do with his body, where to put his hands, how to work his voice, where to avert his eyes, he doesn't know what he should do or what he _is_ supposed to be doing right now, and he thought he had this under control, he thought he had time, that he would come around to telling _Dave_, and he would come around to smooth things over with _Blaine_, and, _oh god_, will the ground just swallow him up now, please?

It fails to do so. And Blaine just looks at him blankly, composure turned human, and Dave just _looks_ at him. Kurt opens his mouth, but he still has _no idea _of what he should be saying, so he closes it again. It takes David clearing his throat and stepping away from him – there's a patch of skin on his waist that is the exact shape of Dave's hand – for Kurt to ground himself and force some sort of sound out of his mouth.

He only hopes it's coherent.

"Blaine. Blaine, what – how – what?"

No, then.

Blaine stares at him, tilting his head in that infuriatingly cute way he has of doing it, as if Kurt is some mildly interesting specimen.

"I called your house. Your father told me you had gone to the movies with Mercedes." Blaine shot an appraising look at Dave. "I'm starting to think he was mistaken."

Kurt gulps, pressing his nails hard into the tender skin of his palm. Dave moves one more step away from him, but Kurt can't summon the courage to even look up at him.

"How did you know – I mean, there are more theatres in Lima –"

"You always liked this one better, remember? The first time we went out. _Properly_, that is," Blaine adds with a private little nod.

Kurt blushes, nodding quickly. He manages one sideways glance at Dave, but the jock won't meet his yes. He is staring fixedly at Blaine, his face focused on something that Kurt cannot make out.

"He wasn't doing anything wrong," he says suddenly, jolting Kurt.

Blaine turns his head to him, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Dude, we're just _friends_. We weren't doing anything, okay?"

Kurt had thought this was bad. Awkward to the extreme.

He had been _wrong_.

"Friends?"

"Yeah, friends. So you just –"

"Friends," repeats Blaine calmly.

"Yeah, that's what I said, but –"

"You and Kurt. _Friends_."

"Look, do you have some kind of hearing problem?" David steps forward, his face a scrunched up mix of bewilderment and severe irritation.

"And why exactly would it be my business whatever you and Kurt are to each other?"

"Fuck, are you _that _slow? I know you're – _together_, okay, I'm not trying anything here, we're just –"

"Me and Kurt are together?" Blaine furrows his brow contemplatively and Kurt _hates_ him, right there and then, hates him like he never thought he could hate anyone, like he never thought he could hate _Blaine_.

Smooth, composed, gentlemanly, _perfect _Blaine.

Who is about to rip Kurt's little happiness spot with a few choice words.

"I see. _Oh_. It's like that guy who goes to a woman in a bar. He drops that line he's been waiting to say all evening, but she takes one look at him, and says, what does she say, oh, _I know_, 'I'm sorry. I have a _boyfriend_.'"

Kurt feels it _inside_.

He shouldn't, he barely knows David after all, half a dozen phone conversations do_ not_ a close acquaintance make – but he feels it deep and raw and _hurtful_, and he hasn't even _looked_ at Dave yet.

"Blaine – "

"Isn't it, Kurt? There's no better way to dispose of an unwanted _suitor_, is there? So clean and _neat_."

The theatre is emptying in slow but steady gushes of people. It's darker outside, and Kurt wonders if he could pull that disappearing act Dave was talking about and just _be gone_. Anywhere he looks he sees Blaine's dreadfully blank eyes and he sees Dave's own, and there is a storm blasting in his face that Kurt definitely did _not _prepare for.

And Blaine just keeps _talking_.

"See, David, Kurt and I broke up almost two weeks ago. So, unless he's managed to get together with someone else in so short a time, he's very much single. Totally available."

Dave looks ready to punch his face in. In all honesty, Kurt can't blame him. If he believed in violence, he would be tempted to do the exact same thing. Then Blaine gives Dave one of those smiles of him, the condescending-pitying-_I-know-so-much-better-than-you_ kind of smirk-smile, and Kurt finds himself starting to believe.

But Dave backs off, and turns away from them, walking so fast he is almost running towards the exit. Kurt blinks, startled, hisses a "Don't _you_ go anywhere" at Blaine, and runs out into the parking lot, the two seconds it takes him to react already enough for him to lose sight of Dave.

He thankfully spots him by his pick-up and almost jumps in front of him. Spreading his arms in front of the door is probably one dramatic touch too many, but the situation demands it and, well, drama tends to calm Kurt down.

Dave shakes his head furiously and tries to walk around him, to no avail. He growls, and if the situation wasn't so fucked up already, Kurt's knees would be giving out. They buckle a little under him, nonetheless.

"Fuck off, Hummel."

"N-no."

Dave scowls at him and grabs for the door again, but Kurt swats his hand away. He can see the tremendous effort Dave is making to not just push him away, not to _touch_ Kurt when he's like this, and it makes his heart clench. It probably shouldn't; David is not doing anything particularly heroic, after all.

However, Kurt knows that, were the roles reversed, he would have already done whatever he could to shove Dave out of the way.

"Get the fuck outta my face!"

Kurt looks up defiantly and shakes his head slowly, his heart drumming heavily in his ribcage, but it isn't _fear_, or else, it isn't the fear he used to associate with Karofsky. This is a whole new kind of panic, because he knows Dave will cut off his own hand before he lays one finger on Kurt, and _that, right there_, is what scares him. That he _knows_ this. That Kurt would rather have Dave punching him than leaving now, as if things weren't already confusing enough.

"Kurt."

It's half hissed, half growled, but it's something.

"David, please."

"Don't _push me_, Hummel!"

Kurt falters at that, and his lips quirk up, because it's so ridiculous, and messed up, and _crazy_ insane right now, but he has found himself repeating those same words over and over again these last two weeks, replaying that same scene in his head with a thousand different outcomes, and it's almost like they're reenacting one of his top ten fantasies right here in this filthy, overcrowded parking lot.

Dave's frown deepens and he slams one hand on the truck's door, just beside Kurt's head. Kurt's eyes widen and he flattens his body against the side of the car. He doesn't know if it's this wild belief that Dave would never hurt him, or if he has a secret masochist streak, but he can't help being a little turned on. He licks his lips and lifts his chin high, staring fixedly into Dave's eyes.

It's a challenge and he is just _dying_ to know if Dave will rise up to it.

"Shit. Shitshitshit_shit_, fuck!"

He doesn't.

Kurt breathes out slowly and shakes himself, quirking one eyebrow at Dave who is pacing furiously between a dirty Volvo and a rundown Mercedes. He looks like a trapped bear in more or less fashionable clothing, and Kurt finds himself smiling fondly.

David stops by the Volvo, his head hanging down and sighs, long and raspy, kicking the pavement. He turns around and narrows his eyes at Kurt, who must be completely _out_ of survival instincts, because his smile insists on growing, and it's probably pissing Dave off immensely, but he can't help himself.

"One of these days, Fancy, you're gonna get the trouble you keep asking for," murmurs Dave bemusedly, as he comes to stand three steps away from Kurt.

Kurt huffs and dusts his shirt off primly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Can we be civilized now?"

Dave rolls his eyes and scoffs, which Kurt takes for an affirmative.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I honestly meant to."

"Right. Sure. Whatever."

"_Da-vid_-"

Dave runs a hand through his hair and sighs again, looking down.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it _does_. It very obviously _does_."

"Look, it's none of my business –"

"Oh my god, Dave, stop! Can we please – can we just _stop_? It _is_ your business, not least because you're my _friend_ and friends share things like that." Kurt bites his lip, playing with his sleeve. "So stop. I should have told you, I don't know – I don't know why I _didn't._"

"Your _ex_ seems to have a pretty good theory all worked out."

Kurt scowls at that and jerks Dave's chin up with two fingers.

"Blaine was wrong." Dave is still avoiding his eyes. "He _was_. I haven't even talked to him since we broke up, and I was barely talking to him _before_ as it was. He knows _nothing_."

David _finally_ looks up and Kurt almost wishes he hadn't, because for the third time in one evening he feels the metaphorical rug slip from under his feet, because Dave's eyes are just the right shade of brown under the crude light of the streetlamp, because he is. Never. Fucking. Prepared.

"Why didn't you?" Dave asks softly.

"W-what?" Kurt is still a little lost.

"Tell me." Dave wets his lips. "Why didn't you?"

Kurt feels his whole face fall.

He is just.

So _sad._

And sorry, and regretful, and miserable, and self-hating, and so, so, _so_ _sad_. Because he never meant to hurt Dave like _this_, because maybe he hasn't completely forgiven him yet but he is far, so _far_ from wishing him any evil.

"I don't – I didn't think – I didn't want to –"

Dave just looks at him.

"God, David, I don't know. It seemed –" he cuts himself off, but Dave keeps _looking_ at him, and he has to go on, " – easier, I guess, because –"

"You thought I would – if I knew you –"

"No! I mean, _no_, it wasn't you, it was for me, and then I thought if I just said it like that it would sound – I don't know, and then when –" Kurt cuts himself off for real then. He is blushing terribly and his hands are shaking and he almost brought up _The Incident_, and they need that now as much as they need man-eating mermaids. He looks away, blinking like mad because he can just feel frustration tears trying to peek from under his eyelids, and wouldn't that be fabulous.

Dave snorts.

"Dave?"

He snorts again, louder, and then he's chuckling, and then he's laughing for real at the look on Kurt's face.

"Well, at least someone is amused."

"Jesus, Fancy, don't look at me like that, oh _God_ –"

"Would you mind letting me in on the joke? I believe that's the polite thing to do at the moment."

Dave guffaws and coughs and Kurt restrains himself from patting him on the back, because if someone deserves to die choked on his own tongue right now it is David Karofsky.

"Shit. Okay, look, I just – Did you think I – fuck, I can't even –"

Kurt's eyes narrow and he starts tapping the tip of his leather shoe against the pavement.

"Okay, okay, fine, you're pissed." David takes in a large gulp of air and looks at Kurt with crinkling eyes, the corners of his mouth trembling. "You thought I'd think _you_ were coming on to _me_ if you'd told me you were single?"

Kurt scoffs, blushing even harder if possible, a dozen of venomous jabs just on the tip of his tongue. But Dave looks… _god, _he looks freaking _charming_ like this, alright, with mischievous eyes and a grin dancing all over his face, and Kurt _can't_. Maybe this is what Finn feels when the redhead at the gas station smiles and winks at him while short-changing them, and Kurt really thought this kind of stupidity was a straight guy privilege, but apparently it _isn't_. And he has been awed and amazed before, because Blaine is _very_ attractive, but it was never quite like this, not this babbling oafishness he feels creeping in.

With Blaine he had _wanted_ to be dazzled, to be swept off his feet, and it had worked fine. But with David he _needs_ to stay grounded, and he _knows _it, but it's like he can't help himself, really.

"Kurt?"

Kurt rolls his eyes, tapping his arm with his fingernails.

"Oh, shut up. Even you have to admit it would have been awkward."

"I don't see why." Dave looks up, shoving his hands in his pockets with feigned nonchalance. "Thought _I _covered awkward ages ago."

"You – forget it." He fingers one strand of hair absently. "Dave I have to… I have to go talk to Blaine."

He can see it immediately, how Dave tenses up and guards himself, his face shutting off, his eyes unbearably distant. He nods briskly in Kurt's general direction and gestures towards his truck.

"Sure. You two probably – I'll, hum, I'll just –" He gestures again needlessly.

"Don't _just._ Please," whispers Kurt.

He finds it interesting how Dave's forehead wrinkles in confusion.

"What?"

"Don't go. It'll only take a few minutes and then we can – not _eat_, I can't believe how stuffed I still am over those popcorn," Kurt's eyes widen as he hurries to correct himself, "but you can, of course, we could just grab something and, I don't know, hum, walk somewhere?" he finishes lamely.

Dave is looking at him _like that_ again. One can, apparently, be too expressive; there are so many conflicting emotions criss-crossing Dave's face that Kurt cannot for his life tell if he is confused, interested, or just incredibly ticked off.

"Okay." It's almost a challenge.

Kurt chokes a bit.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

A sudden draft makes Kurt shiver and hug himself tighter into his jacket. Dave seems unfazed, making Kurt wonder – not for the first time in the evening – if he could simply step forward and fold himself into the taller boy. He stores the thought for later.

"So… you wait for me here, right?" he wants to make sure.

Dave shrugs his shoulders once.

"_David_."

"Yeah."

Kurt sighs, knowing that is the best he can hope for at the moment.

As he walks away from the parking lot, he turns back once; Dave is leaning against the side of his truck, his head is tilted back, and he's looking at the stars.

* * *

><p>Blaine is sitting at the least dirty table of the cinema bar, a coffee cup in front of him. His coat is casually unbuttoned, his legs are crossed elegantly, and maybe it's the lighting, but to Kurt he looks like something out of a movie scene.<p>

Kurt almost turns back.

But Blaine is his friend, or at least he hopes so. He wants to salvage this even if _he _was the one to mess it up in the first place, by getting himself infatuated and not following through with it.

"May I?" he asks, because he really doesn't know.

Blaine looks up and nods, his easy smile nowhere to be found. Kurt sits down and fumbles with the two large buttons in his own coat, then with the collar of his shirt, and he is almost going for his hair when Blaine grabs his hand, laying it gently on the table. Kurt settles down, secretly relieved that Blaine withdraws his own hand so discreetly.

They sit in silence for a while, Kurt hating himself a little as he starts to worry that this might take longer than he initially thought, and that he might not get to Dave in time, and that he will go home angry at Kurt, and resentful, and, right, it isn't Dave he should be worrying about _now_, it's _Blaine_, with his blank face and shrouded eyes and missing smile.

Kurt exhales, gathering his nerves.

"Oh, Blaine, I'm – I'm so sorry," he says quietly, and it's like he can't stop apologizing tonight, isn't it?

Blaine sighs softly and smiles. It fails to reach his eyes.

"You should have told me." He shakes his head. "I wish you'd have told me. Would have saved me a guilt-trip."

Kurt arches his eyebrows questioningly. Blaine's cheeks turn pink and he clears his throat.

"I might have been… _seeing_ someone."

He's blushing fully now, and won't meet Kurt's eyes, which are now wide with shock.

"You – you – someone _who_?"

Blaine his nibbling on his bottom lip worriedly, and if this situation wasn't surreal enough, Kurt would be astonished at how _discomposed_ he really looks.

"You don't know him. He works at the JCPenney. The one at the mall."

Kurt lets out a high-pitched _giggle_, and his hand automatically flies to his mouth, smothering his hilarity.

"Oh god, _Blaine_, you never get to call me a fashion-whore _ever again_. You – you retail _slut_!"

Blaine frowns at him, flicking the lid of his coffee at Kurt's hair, who manages to avoid it between snickers.

"Like you can talk. You and your jock obsession," he says snappily.

Kurt sobers immediately.

"About that –"

"Forget it. I should have _known_." Blaine narrows his eyes, smirking revengefully at Kurt's red cheeks. "Remember when you told me about his apology? I could almost _see _the little hearts in your eyes."

"Haha. Aren't you cute?" snaps Kurt, drumming his fingers on the table. "And _delusional_."

Blaine holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

"Alright, so maybe not _then_, but you kept finding ways of sneaking him into the conversation ever since then."

"That means nothing! I talk about a lot of things, like –"

"Kurt, it's fine. Really," says Blaine soothingly, knowing a Kurt-rant when he sees one. "I'm not mad."

"Like you would have any ground for being mad at me," grumbles Kurt. "Retail-slut," he adds, a mock-stern expression firmly in place.

Blaine rolls his eyes but smiles, _for real now_, and Kurt can feel that last piece of sickly guilt slip away. He actually feels lighter.

"So, this thing with Karofsky –"

"There is no _thing_ with Dave, thank you very much."

Blaine smile widens and Kurt bites back a curse.

"Oh-oh. _Dave_, is it?"

"It's still his name, isn't it?" Kurt retorts half-heartedly.

"Of course it is."

"Oh, shut up."

Blaine snickers and takes a sip of his coffee. Kurt looks him over: he's relaxed, open – as open as Blaine can ever stand to be around anyone – and, Kurt notices, he is _relieved._ He starts feeling a little put out that Blaine isn't jealous _at all_ of Dave, but shakes off the feeling with a disapproving shake of head.

"So, why did you decide to seek me out all of a sudden? We've barely seen each other this summer."

Blaine turns serious again.

"I wanted to – I wasn't joking about the guilt-trip, Kurt. I felt really uncomfortable with this."

"Why? I mean, we _are_ broken up," says Kurt, furrowing his brow.

"Well, I didn't know what 'taking a break' _meant_ to you exactly. I was almost sure everything was finished between us, but I didn't _know_, you know?"

Kurt nods slowly. He had had the same nagging doubt, but had been entirely too preoccupied with Dave to actually _do_ something about it.

"I knew we needed closure, _I _needed closure, and I –" Blaine cuts himself off, smiling sadly at Kurt. "I wasn't sure if we were still… _friends_."

Kurt feels his eyes prickling but bites into his lip firmly. There is _no way_ he is crying tonight.

"Oh Blaine. _Of course_ we are."

"Oh, good," says Blaine with a relieved laugh.

Kurt looks at him wonderingly. He is feeling the need for real advice, advice he is still scared of asking Finn for, least he freaks him out. But he is also still too embarrassed to talk to Rachel about it, and still hesitant to go to Mercedes.

"Blaine, there's something I – I realize this is our _official_ break-up talk, but I need –"

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up when Kurt falls silent.

"Kurt, you _know_ you can tell me anything."

Kurt smiles gratefully and nods.

"It's just – me and Dave, we've been talking a lot lately –"

"Obviously."

"Really, Blaine? _Really_?"

"Sorry, reflexive sarcasm. Go on."

"Right. We've been talking on the phone almost every day and I – there might have been, hypothetically of course, there might have been one or two conversations that were more –" Kurt licks his lips, horrendously embarrassed " – _heated_, for lack of a better –"

"Kurt Hummel, you filthy _whore_!"

Kurt blinks at the interruption and scowls at the delighted expression on Blaine's face.

"_Classy_."

"Oh no. You have been having piping hot phone-sex. With _Karofsky_. That blows class right out of the water, Kurt, this is – this is a _revelation_!"

Kurt splutters and chokes slightly as Blaine keeps smiling beatifically at him.

"So, is he any good?"

Pretense finally drops. Kurt bangs his head on the table with a pained groan, and kicks feebly at Blaine's leg, who just chuckles and pats the back of his head.

"I'm guessing _very_ good, then."

Kurt groans again and Blaine's eyes widen comically.

"Oh. _Oh. _Well, all that glitters, and rough diamonds, and so on, I guess."

He smiles fondly at the top of Kurt's head and takes a large gulp of his now cooling coffee.

"Now, Kurt, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a very _natural_, very _beautiful_ thing."

He stifles a laugh at Kurt's attempt at growling. Then, something appears to cross his mind and he frowns.

"Wait, you were having phone-sex with him, when _he _thought we were still together, and he never called you on it? He was just gonna go along with it tonight?"

Kurt lifts his head finally, his face etched into a half-scowl.

"First, it isn't _were having_, it's had, as in _once_. And – he doesn't know about it."

Blaine shoots him an incredulous look.

"Kurt, I'm ready to believe that boy rocked your socks off easily enough, but if you say he did it in his _sleep _I'm totally calling your bluff."

"He was _drunk_. I – I didn't tell him about it." Kurt's fingers intertwine in a nervous gesture.

"_Oh._"

"Blaine –"

"No, I'm not here to – judge you, Kurt, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Kurt's head falls back, his neck bending in a painful curve, and he closes his eyes firmly shut.

"Oh god, I'm a terrible person. I'm just – immoral, Finn is right, I practically _molested_ him."

"What? Kurt, _no_. You're – you're a teenager, you're allowed mistakes! God, next to me getting my crush _fired_, that's nothing, that's –"

"It's not _nothing_! His judgment was impaired – he was _tripping _and _vomiting_ all over the place, for god's sake!" Kurt throws his hands up in despair.

"Huh, vomiting? Well, I guess there's no arguing with kink –" Blaine stops short when Kurt _snarls_ at him. "Now, look here. I'm no stranger to really bad hangovers and awful drunken decisions, but the thing about memory loss? It's a bit of a myth."

"_What._"

"I mean, if you're drunk enough to _not_ remember anything in the morning, you're _too_ drunk to work out articulate sentences, much less seduce someone into having fulfilling phone-sex."

"_What?_"

"In fact, not like I ever _checked_, but I don't think you could, hum, _rise_ to the occasion under those particular conditions."

"_What!_"

"I'm assuming he _did _rise to it, then."

"Oh _god_."

Blaine leans forward, worried. Kurt's eyes are darting everywhere and he looks a shade too pale to be healthy.

"Kurt, are you –"

"I'm f-fine," says Kurt shakily. "Oh god, Blaine, I can't – What if he remembers, no, he _can't_, he would have – oh my holy _Gaga_, what am I gonna _do_?"

"Talking to him comes to mind."

"I _can't_!"

"Why, Kurt? I mean, first you forget to tell him you're _single_, which, well, I still don't get."

Kurt makes a pitiful sound.

"I was… _afraid_."

Blaine nods, urging him to continue.

"That he – that if I said it _just like that_ – that he would think I –" Kurt hides his mortified face in his hands. "That I was _comingontohim_," he finishes in a rushed whisper.

Putting it out there, his embarrassment feels a lot more ridiculous than it used to. He still refuses to look at Blaine, who makes this _ mm-hmm_ noise that never really means anything.

"And that would be… _bad_, I imagine. But why?"

Kurt's head shoots up.

"What?"

"I mean, you obviously like him."

Blaine offers him a comforting smile but Kurt just stares.

"I… I…"

"Is this too soon? Or just denial?" asks Blaine, quirking his eyebrow,

Kurt closes his gaping mouth and shakes his head miserably. He obviously should have just stayed in bed this morning. Blaine takes his hand, forcing a muffled surprised sound from Kurt, but Blaine's face is full of understanding and empathy and _yes_, Kurt remembers, _this_ is where he fell. It doesn't do a lot for him _now_, but he can see it clearly and it makes him wish Blaine all the happiness in the _universe_.

"There's nothing wrong with liking someone, Kurt. Granted, it's _Karofsky_," he says with just a hint of disbelief, "but you're smart. I trust your judgment on this, and he seemed a lot… _tamer_," he finishes hiding a smile.

Kurt blinks twice, his eyes pleading with Blaine to continue.

"I think you should trust your instincts on this, I really do. And tell him, or _don't_ tell him, but if he _remembers_, Kurt, he must be a little hurt with you by now."

He squeezes Kurt's hand when his eyes shine suspiciously.

"But it's _your_ call, Kurt, and no one can make it for you."

He nods wisely at that to which Kurt shoots him an annoyed eye roll, but smiles in spite of himself. Blaine gets up first and tugs Kurt up with him. When they're face to face he grabs the taller boy's shoulders, scowling slightly when Kurt smirks at the height difference.

"Well, there always has to be someone to reach for the higher shelves," he says pragmatically. Then his eyes turn serious. "You said once that… that you'd never say goodbye to me, Kurt."

Kurt just _knows_ he won't make it through this evening, but he soldiers on valiantly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay.

"And I won't. _Ever_, Blaine, god, I don't know what I would have done without you by now."

Blaine smiles and squeezes his shoulders lightly.

"You'd manage, somehow. Kurt, I – I know we're broken up and all, but… friends can love each other as well, can't they?" he asks quietly.

And he's lost. His eyes water and spill all of a sudden, and he throws his arms around Blaine, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Of course they can, Blaine, _obviously_ they _can_."

"Good." Blaine hugs him back and steps away, his eyes shining a little. "Well, this has been wonderful, but don't you have somewhere else to be? A wounded bear to tend to?"

Kurt's eyes widen and he wipes at his cheeks hastily, his mind free-falling into panic. Blaine chuckles and combs Kurt's disarrayed hair back with his fingers.

"There, you're as cute as ever." He looks down appraisingly. "Nice jacket. Marc Jacobs?"

Kurt nods smugly.

"Lose it."

"_What_?"

"Trust me. It's fabulous, you_ look_ fabulous, but take it off," Blaine urges, proceeding to do just so when Kurt fails to move fast enough. He folds the jacket over his own arm, smiling at the inscription.

"_So_ you." He looks back at Kurt, who is fiddling with his shirt collar. "_That_ no so much, but _whoa_."

Kurt pouts childishly, furiously tugging at the almost skin-tight fabric.

"Rachel did it."

The Warbler curls his lips appreciatively and hands him the jacket.

"Well, modesty aside, she has very good taste." He ignores Kurt scoffing and clucks his tongue at the top buttons of the shirt. "Now, this won't do… there!" he declares triumphantly, pulling the collar open with three buttons undone.

"But – that's _slutty_!" cries Kurt, his mouth gaping open.

"Says who?"

"Rachel!"

"_Rachel_ hasn't been having phone-sex, I'm sorry, somewhat_ heated conversations _with Karofsky, has she?"

Kurt frowns and huffs, crossing his arms.

"She had better _not_."

"You need slutty in your life, Kurt, believe me." Blaine flashes him a conciliatory smile and steps back, admiring his work. "And _damn _it looks good on you. Dalton uniforms never did you any justice, definitely."

Kurt blushes, waving him off, making Blaine chuckle.

"And learn to take a compliment." He looks at his clock. "I gotta get home. And you –"

"I know," Kurt says softly, hiding a sniffle. "Blaine?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"If you weren't jealous, or even _mad_ at me, why were you so… _mean_ to Dave back there?"

Blaine's eyebrows knit together pensively.

"I… don't _know_. I guess it's mandatory, isn't it? Almost an after break up ritual. Besides –" he adds, and Kurt just knows he's going to feel like slapping him. " – I couldn't let him get away _that_ easy, could I? Had to make sure he was making progresses."

Kurt's eyebrows shoot up to his airline and he pursues his lips but lets it go. He basically dumped Blaine after all – the JCPenney boytoy _so_ did _not _factor in – so he can dispense a little mercy.

"And he really seems to be moving forward. So unafraid of going out with you on _date night_ of all nights… I'm starting to think you've got a little wizard's blood in you, Kurt."

Kurt looks taken aback for a while but shrugs it off, offering Blaine a flippant smile.

"He can always say Santana made him, I guess. Summer school Bullywhips complimentary action." He frowns a little. "We didn't really talk about it. Better to be whipped as long as it's pussy-whipped, right?"

Blaine chuckles darkly, nodding. He glances at his watch again, secretly amused.

"Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"You do know we've been talking for a little over half an hour here, don't you? Shouldn't you –"

Kurt is already out the door.

"Goodbye, then!" Blaine calls after him, shaking his head. _And good luck_.

* * *

><p>"Hi."<p>

He watches as Dave's shoulders tense, relax, then tense up again even harder – he's wound up so tight that Finn could probably use him for drum practice. He still doesn't turn to face Kurt.

"Talk went well?" Kurt picks out after a while, soft and low and barely even there.

"Superb. Couldn't have gone better," he says with a smile, trying to imprint it in his tone and pass it on to Dave.

It doesn't work. If anything, Dave just clams up entirely, the frown lines on his forehead deep enough to worry Kurt they might freeze that way.

"Huh. Good for you." David rakes one hand through his hair, and Kurt's eyes get a little lost on the spot where Dave's upper arm meets his forearm. "Do you – Kurt, I – _fuck it_, do you want me to go?"

"Where?" The spot looks delicious, and kissable, and lickable, and Kurt wants to do all sorts of dirty things to it.

Dave snorts feebly.

"Home, I guess. Maybe a ditch."

A ditch? Why are they talking about ditches – well, David is talking, Kurt is admiring a fine work of natural art, thank you very much – when they could be…

He shakes his head in disbelief. There should be _shots_ for these kinds of tangents.

"What? Dave, what in the good name of Hermès Brikin bags are you talking about?"

"Of _what_ bags?"

"Birkin bags."

"The shit you know, huh?"

"Not _shit_. Or, at least, extremely expensive shit." Kurt sighs. "You _need _to be educated. _Pronto_."

His eyebrows go up when a shudder runs through Dave's whole body. The jock has gone a little pink in the face, and Kurt decides it's not that bad a color on him.

"Are you cold?"

"N-no. 'M fine." David finally looks at him, and Kurt is eternally grateful to Rachel and Blaine for never giving up on the obviously hopeless case he _is_ when it comes to dressing to attract, because _ohmygod_ there's no mistaking that look, the double, third-take David graces him with, the way his mouth gapes open just a tiny bit, and Kurt is feeling sexier than he ever thought he could, and it's all _Dave_, it's always Dave, growling in Kurt's ear about how _fucking hot_ Kurt really is, eyeing him like is the last piece of triple chocolate fudge cake on the dessert table.

He shivers. His mouth falls open slightly, his hips arch forward half an inch, his eyelids flutter almost involuntarily and, _please oh please_, he's practically begging to be taken right here on the filthy pavement, and he doesn't even know for sure what he wants Dave to do with him, but he wants _something_, everything, _anything._

Dave coughs suspiciously and looks away; the moment is gone. There's a good-for-nothing flicker of doubt in Kurt's mind spouting out things like, _Dave has already seen him without his coat and he wasn't that impressed_, _Kurt has probably got grease from the table smeared all over his front_, _Blaine pulled a practical joke on him and taped a sticker to his head when Kurt was too preoccupied to notice_.

Kurt might be _that_ insecure, but he isn't blind. Dave was looking at him in the same way Finn looks at Kurt's special chocolate-hazelnut mousse recipe. Or, to forego Finn and food analogies entirely, he was looking at Kurt in the same way Kurt has been looking at David for the whole blasted evening.

It's as simple as that.

"So, you and Blaine."

Kurt is practically manhandled back to reality; it has nothing to do with the resentment in Dave's voice, but rather with _Blaine_.

"Blaine?"

Dave shrugs one shoulder morosely.

"'S his name, right?"

Kurt hums noncommitently and leans against the car as well, stretching his arms up behind his head. The moon is almost full, bright enough to look almost unreal, and directly above them. His head is overflowing with noise: Rachel, Mercedes, Finn and Blaine – it makes him wonder how he can possibly find space for Dave in there.

Only Dave isn't noise. If his friends are high, grating static, David is a low buzz, vibrating through his skull – and it's _pleasant_. Comforting, like the extra blanket his dad gets him at three in the morning on winter nights, or Carole's shy goodnight kiss when she thinks Kurt is already asleep, or even –

When he opens his mother's drawer just a sliver, panicked that the scent will fade away over the years, but it's still there. He feels almost blasphemous in a way, because this _is_ Karofsky, and being shoved into lockers has nothing to do with the perfume in his mother's sweaters, but it is always, _always_ _Dave_, and the warmth radiating from his body next to Kurt's and the gentle way he brushed Kurt's cheek before the kiss-that-wasn't has _everything_ to do with that first intake of scented air.

Dave shifts a little. When Kurt looks at him he is looking back, and it makes him restless, itches under his skin how he can't tell what Dave wants exactly, what he _needs_, what he would be comfortable with Kurt doing.

The movie had been… _interesting,_ because Kurt has been doing a lot of breathing, and there are things like positive thinking and self-actualization, and everything should always be taken in with a grain of salt, and you should step back to see the big picture, so yes, _interesting_. He can only hope the big picture is _that good_; the small one had him and Dave sitting in a practically empty movie theatre, pitch-dark during night scenes and with the AC turned up just enough that Kurt kept wanting to shuffle nearer to Dave for warmth; the small one had Dave turning to face him every two second during all of Depp's scenes with a big, stupidly adorable grin on his face as if to check whether Kurt was laughing as well and Kurt had always been too focused on keeping still and fucking _breathing_ and not just jumping the guy right then and there.

The small picture had Kurt and Dave walking out in silence, until Dave had finally cracked and asked if the movie had sucked that bad for Kurt to look as if he had just buried his pet parakeet, which had Kurt choking on his own saliva, because the last time a bird had gone and died on him it had worked out splendidly – at the time, at least. Kurt had gotten a hold of himself and snapped back with a grumble about cannibalistic merpeople and Dave had laughed, openly and happily, and Kurt hadn't even minded that he remembered next to nothing off the entire movie.

The _small picture_ was a mess. So Kurt could only hope.

For what, he wasn't sure. But he still hoped.

"You and Blaine," Dave repeats, dragging it out a bit.

There are three stars just to the left of David's head; Kurt wishes he knew enough of astronomy to name the constellation.

"Yes, me and Blaine. Me and you. And maybe later, me and Rachel," he deadpans, smirking to himself.

"… what."

"Sorry. _Will and Grace_ marathon with Britt and Tina last night," he says, shrugging and bringing his arms down.

Dave just watches him as he steps away from the pick-up; his coat is once again draped over his shoulder, and there is a cockiness to his step that Kurt hopes David won't notice is faked. He looks back, lifting one eyebrow.

"Are you coming?"

Dave looks up once more, seemingly lost in thought, but nods, pushing himself off the car to follow Kurt.

"He just came here to make sure we were firmly broken up," he starts when they're already out of the parking lot, deciding it is about time to start shooting those elephants down.

"Hum."

"I assured him we were."

"Hum."

"He has got his eye on someone else, anyway."

"Hum."

"And that kinda made me snap, so I just fell down to my knees and begged him to take me back."

Dave shoots him a wide-eyed, panicked look, getting the full effect of Kurt Hummel's patented bitch face. He licks his lips, a smirk held back just in time.

"Yeah? Did it work?"

"Of course it did," Kurt huffs. "My powers of seduction are not to be doubted."

"Never," says Dave, holding up his hands in surrender. "You getting couples therapy?"

Kurt sighs resignedly.

"If we must. Sacrifices must be made in a relationship, David, sacrifices _must be made_."

"Sure." David offers him a crooked smile and Kurt chuckles, dropping the façade.

"Seriously, now. I _know_ I should have told you, and this last hour was all kinds of awkward, but could we just… I don't know, develop some sort of laser-guided amnesia about this?"

"Fuck _yeah_."

Kurt grins widely at that and, shrugging of consequences for a moment, grabs David's arm, dragging the jock behind him. He turns right and Dave follows without a word, muscles tensing slightly under the pressure of Kurt's hand.

"Hey, Fancy?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Not that I mind being mindlessly dragged around, but… where the hell are we going?"

Kurt taps his bottom lip with one finger, feeling unbearably giddy when Dave's eyes follow the movement hungrily.

"You'll see, _David_." He pauses, looking uncertain. "That is… if you're not too hungry?"

"'S alright. Not like I'm gonna keel over from one missed meal, right? Probably do me some good," he adds self-depreciatingly.

Kurt's eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he would ask what David is going on about, but he hasn't been this excited in a while. Blaine's easy blessing is such a tremendous weight of his back, as is Dave's willingness to just go along with whatever Kurt wants.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Modesty aside, I'm a pretty accomplished cook." Kurt misses Dave's stunned expression at the implication, and almost skips down the street in excitemnet. "We're here!"

David stares past Kurt.

"The _park_? That's what got your juices all flowing?"

Kurt slaps his arm lightly, too pleased with himself to use real bite.

"No juices, David. And the park is _amazing_. I used to love the swings, but no one would ever bring me here at night."

"Why the fuck would you wanna –"

The singer pouts, going over to the nearest swing and sitting down.

"All the kids were bigger than me and I could never get a turn."

David's smile is fond under the flickering streetlight.

"Aww. Poor itty bitty Fancy."

"Oh? I bet you were the king of the playground, then." Kurt drags his feet, pushing himself back.

"Fuck yeah I was!"

"Well, you must have been _adorable_. Boy Scout much?"

Dave grins, sliding one finger down the chain of Kurt's swing.

"Maybe I went rogue."

"... right. Oh, look, the sandbox. As fabulously grimy as I remember it," retorts Kurt, pointing with the tip of his shoe. Dave nods distractedly, looking around.

"Y'know, my dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid." He cocks his head to the side, turning to Kurt again."Hey, maybe we met."

"I got throw on my face a lot, so yes, probably," deadpans Kurt, making a face.

"Oh. Shit."

Kurt sighs, exasperated, and curls his hands around the chains, swinging his body back and forth.

"I'm kidding Dave. I managed to stir away from trouble just fine. I was a very resourceful toddler." He pauses, frowning at his feet, which keep dragging through the dirt. "But I never played in the sandbox, it always smelled like pee."

"Sorry about that."

"David!"

"What? When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?"

Kurt's eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He stops the swing with a screech.

"No! Oh my _god, _David!"

"I drank like a _ton_ of apple juice that day!" Dave spreads out his hands, barely restraining a laughing fit. Kurt shakes his head in dismay, wrinkling his nose.

"Sweet Prada, I hope you got arrested for indecent exposure."

"Nah, but Jerry Cox's mom told me I was a naughty boy and that naughty boys go straight to hell with no dessert."

"... Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope." Dave pops the 'p' with a shit-eating grin, bumping his knee onto the side of Kurt's swing.

"Hmm. So _that_'s where all those issues come from."

"Hey!"

"Early repressed trauma, or something like that."

Kurt looks up at him with narrowed eyes, the corners of his lips twitching. Dave stares him down with a deep frown and rattles the chain, making the smaller boy yelp and slap his hand. The jock shoots him a sideways look and a smug grin and looks up, eyes full of moonlight.

"Ha, I got Willy to pee on her bag."

"Do I even want to know who or what Willy was?"

"My dog, Fancy, get your mind out of the gutter."

Kurt sniggers in spite of himself, rubbing his feet casually against the side of Dave's leg. When Dave looks down surprised, he starts examining his fingernails attentively, innocence personified.

A stray sentence crosses his mind, making him drop his pretence.

"God, what is it with you and pee?"

"Marking the territory?"

"That one I _never_ got."

"All the cool kids were doing it. But I did it first, 'course."

"Of course. You trend-setter, you." Kurt glances up at David wonderingly, then at the chains, tugging at them as if testing for strength. He hops of the swing and grabs them again. "I've got an idea. Help me up, will you?"

Dave's brow furrowed as Kurt grasps his shoulder for balance, putting one foot on top of the swing experimentally.

"Fancy, what –"

"Help me, come on!"

David mumbles under his breath about bossy little bitches but clutches the chains firmly, steadying the swing, tensing his shoulder to support Kurt's weight. The other boy is soon standing upright, if a little shaky, and grinning brilliantly at Dave, who can't help but smile back.

"I always wanted to do this."

"You never…?"

Kurt rolls his eyes, letting go of Dave's shoulder and grabbing for the chains just above where Dave's hands held them in place.

"My dad thought I might get hurt. I tended to get a little… over-excited at the park." Kurt's expression sobers immediately. "That was… we usually came here with my mom."

Dave searches his face worriedly and, almost grudgingly, lets his hands slide over Kurt's own, covering them. Kurt's breathing itches slightly, and he looks about to say something, but apparently thinks better, letting his head fall against the chain at his left.

David stares at where his hands are, disbelievingly. His thumbs sweep over the pale skin of Kurt's knuckles. In an almost curious gesture, the tips of his fingers go further up, caressing the inside of Kurt's wrist with so little pressure it is almost a ghost touch. Kurt sighs quietly, shivering.

Aside from them, the park is completely empty; the lateness of the hour makes it seem like they are the last two people awake in the world, maybe even the last two people alive. Once in a while a light breeze will creep up, rustling the leaves of the three sole surviving trees in the park. Kurt's world has rapidly narrowed to this, Dave's callused but _oh_ so gentle fingers tracing the inside of his forearms. He feels tiny sparks going off under his skin at every sweep of those fingers, feels his heart rate picking up, still steady but faster and _faster_. The hairs on his arms are standing up on the wake of Dave's path up his body, his hands leaving a trail a few degrees hotter than the rest of Kurt's skin.

His lips part when Dave skips over his shoulders, pressing his thumbs softly and teasingly against Kurt's naked collarbone, before tracing his way down Kurt's sides. He exhales shallowly, spots of light dancing before his eyes when Dave presses his palms fully over his ribcage, down the slight curve of his waist, finally curling around Kurt's hips, thumbs rubbing against concave hip bones, his other fingers splayed over Kurt's lower back, teasing at the waistband of his pants.

A rebellious strand of hair flops onto his forehead, sticking to the thin sheet of sweat that has collected there. Kurt's whole body is trembling, his knees a hair's breadth from giving out completely. His hands are white fists around the chains; it seems like the only thing keeping him upright is the pressure of Dave's fingers around his hips, and isn't that where the trouble started in the first place? He is staring at the top of Dave's head, which is inches away from his chin; Dave's eyes are downcast, fixed on his own hands. Kurt can feel the inside of his pants heating up unbearably, and if he knew he could just step down without making a broken mess of his irresponsive joints he _would_. He has never wanted to be face to face with Dave this much; even though he is overwhelmed with fear that he might just be the Blaine to Dave's Kurt, he doesn't care. He needs, oh god, he needs to kiss Dave so badly, possibly more than kissing, but kissing is all his feverish brain can come up with at the moment. He won't pull away, will he, not now, not even David Karofsky is that much of a _tease_.

Then the pressure on his hips tightens and Dave looks up, and his eyes are _burning_, his whole expression is positively ravenous and Kurt can only remember to shoot his hands forward to grasp Dave's shoulders when his knees finally sign their letter of resignation. David catches him around the waist with a muffled curse, and for half of a glorious second Kurt is sure that _this is it_, Dave has nowhere to run now, he _has_ to kiss Kurt, he simply fucking _has_ _to_, what else can he possibly do?

David steps back as if burnt, looking everywhere _but_ at Kurt – who, after stumbling ungracefully a few steps forward, has managed to remain more or less steady on his feet. He stares at Dave, completely lost, but the taller boy simply refuses to look back.

"Dave?" whispers Kurt shakily.

"We should – I should, huh, curfew's at eleven today, my mom wants me to go furniture-hunting for Alex's room tomorrow."

"W-what?" asks Kurt, his mind still in a haze.

Dave bites his lip and kneads the back of his neck. Kurt only then notices how red his face is.

"I – alright. Plenty of excitement for one night already, I guess."

Dave nods absently and starts walking away briskly. Kurt glances back at the park sadly – and not a _little_ frustrated – and sighs, trailing after David.

* * *

><p>"<em>David<em>?"

"Huh, hi, Kurt."

"Hum, _hi_. Didn't we just see each other half an hour ago?"

"Well, _yeah_, but you said to call."

"_Tomorrow_."

"No, you didn't say tomorrow."

"Yes, I _did."_

"You said 'call me'."

"I – oh, alright, have it your way."

"Hi, Kurt."

"What even – _hi, David_."

"So… everything okay?"

"Since we last saw each other? Oh, _David_, it has been so long, I barely know where to begin!"

"Okay, okay, fine. 'Night, then."

"Oh, stop it. Everything's fine. And you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"I guess."

"…"

"…"

"So…"

"Yeah?"

"Was there any real purpose to this call? Aside from you suddenly being so eager to obey my every command."

"Not – not really."

"Hmm. Just your good old money-thrown-away routine?"

"Fuck, Fancy, you can just hang up if you –"

"But this is being _so _entertaining!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Oh, hold up."

"'Kay."

"…"

"You alright there, Fancy?"

"Yes, I was just – hold on – ah, _finally_."

"The fuck are you doing? Sounds like a goddamn windstorm over here."

"Oh, nothing. Just getting undressed."

"…"

"Hmm, I hope this doesn't wrinkle."

"…"

"Let me just – did you know that if you wash your pants with the zipper done, it's less likely to get stuck after?"

"…"

"I _need_ to start investing in looser pants."

"K-Kurt –"

"It's hot tonight, isn't it?"

"I-I –"

"Honestly, I can't even _think_ about pajamas right now."

"_Fuck_ –"

"_Oh_, this feels _nice_."

"_Christ_, Fancy –"

"Why people insist on sleeping with _anything_ on is completely beyond me_."_

"…"

"I just _love_ silk sheets. Don't you Dave?"

"…"

"David?"

"…"

"Hmpf."

"…"

"Serves you right."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note 2.0:<strong> So hard to write Blaine like this after "The Purple Piano Project" but I did it. So, so proud of myself. And severely wanting to hit Dave with a hammer.


	10. I'll Walk You Home Safe From The Dark

**Author's Note: **Well, _shit_. This was just supposed to be a filler chapter between The Date and the next one, but... This story has a life of its own, I _swear_. Oh well. All for the better, I guess, I'm really happy with how it turned out.

**dorydafish:** Longer review? I love your review! LOL, I'm a little fond of Blaine too, because, well, _Darren_. And the swings, yeah *clears throat*. And Kurt was really hoping for that kind of reaction ;D Hope you like this one!

**LizzyPoodle:** Awww, you really liked that? I just love that image of Kurt opening his mom's drawer to smell her perfume, makes me all warm and teary deep inside *_*

: I _love_ Blaine as a friend to Kurt, so thank you! And they _are_ feeling to much, it's bound to overflow... partly in this chapter. Fresh Dave/Santana for you! =P

**awkward innuendo: ** Being evil is _so _ rewarding. I love jerking them around LOL

* * *

><p>"Now <em>this<em> is what I call a reasonable time to wait before calling someone."

"Yeah, yeah. Hi, Kurt."

"Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Well, _greet me_ like that all the time. It's like English for Foreigners 101."

"What being polite? Being _nice_?"

"Don't get snappy. It's just… odd."

"Thought you liked nice people, that's all."

"I _do,_ but – oh, never mind. How are you today, David?"

"Fine, thank you, Kurt. And you?"

"Never better. I hadn't slept so well in a _long_ time."

"Huh. So, hum, no mermaid nightmares?"

"None whatsoever."

"_Really_."

"I might have kept my night-light on just in case."

"Chicken."

"You should just _marry_ one if you like them so much."

"Nah, mermaids are just for practice. By the way, jealous much?"

"_Practice_?"

"Deflecting, Fancy?"

"Yes, I'm the real deflector here."

"What do you mean?"

"Fine, David, be like that."

"Like _what_?"

"Like – Uhgh!"

"Like 'uhgh'? How can you be 'uhgh'?"

"Just be your usual obnoxiously thick-headed self and you'll do _fine_."

"Is this the time when I should hang up and let you have your morning meds?"

"More like _your_ morning meds. In fact, I think you might have missed your weekly prescription entirely."

"Hum. Did you eat breakfast? Coach Beiste once totally made Donovan cry after he missed a pass 'cause of low blood sugar."

"_Whatever_."

"What's this, _Twilight Zone_?"

"I – Uhgh!"

"Getting a little PMS'ing there, Fancy?"

"And _why_ do you call me _that_? I _do_ have a name! What, would you prefer it if I called you _Caveman_ all the time? And, by the way, I could never PMS since I'm not a fucking _girl_!"

"Kurt."

"_What_!"

"Look, I'm gonna hang up now, okay? I'll call you after lunch. Get your coffee and have one of those triple chocolate chip cookies."

"Don't _patronize me_, Karofsky!"

"Bye, Kurt."

"Don't you _dare_!"

"…"

"You little –"

"…"

"See if I pick up."

"…"

"Just _watch me_ ignoring you."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"I have a <em>life<em>, you know?"

"Come on, , can you like, cut the high bitch act for five minutes?"

"Aww, did Doll Face bust your nuts a little _too _hard?"

"Christ, what _is_ it with people today? Is there like _eau de bitch_ in the fucking water or what?"

"Just my natural charm, Bear McStud."

"Right."

"Go on, tell Auntie Tana what's eating up your gay little soul."

"'S just Kurt. Again. Fuck."

"Like I didn't know."

"Shit. It's like I can't do anything right, y'know? I'm an asshole and jump him – he changes schools. I'm nice and all 'hands off' – he fucking screeches my head off. Fuck my fucking life, seriously."

"Okay, you listen now, and you listen good, 'cause I'm gonna be your fucking Fairy Godmother _now_ and never again, Hairball. Did Kurt tell you, _specifically_, 'hands off'?"

"I don't know, I think pushing me off and, right, _fucking transferring_ might have been some sort of signal, but hey, I could be wrong."

"I can't believe this. Are you _seriously_ giving me attitude right now?"

"Fuck it, Santana, I know he doesn't want this, okay? I'm not fucking blind."

"No, you're just really fucking dumb."

"Right. I'm calling Britt instead. Will probably get better advice from her."

"She thinks Kurt is secretly half-unicorn, but go ahead. You wanna ride him, so."

"Fuck. You."

"Sweetie, you couldn't even if you grew two straight dicks."

"…"

"You know, that may work on that Kurt blow-up doll I know keeps you company in your cozy little closet, but it damn sure isn't working for me."

"Can you just – I can't fucking deal with your crazy right now."

"Why'd you call me then?"

"'Cause – I'm going out of my fucking _mind_ here, Tana. Shit, he's not even taking my calls anymore."

"I'm just gonna take a calming breath here, 'cause you sound pathetic enough for a breakdown alert. Okay then, let's have it."

"We went out last night."

"Clock's ticking, Big Foot. I know, remember? You wouldn't stop gushing about it like a pre-teen girl on X long enough to fix my cable."

"Yeah, so, it's all going great, he yells at me a bit but it's fine 'cause it's hot on him, and we watch the goddamn movie and he's just completely spaced out, but that's _fine_, I think he was just freaking out over the mermaids –"

"The underwater colony for lesbian serial-killers?"

"… right. Anyway, everything's cool, and we're having fun, at least I _think_ he was having fun, and it's fucking _awesome_ – and then Blaine shows up."

"What, Kurt's Blaine?"

"No, the fucking president's Blaine."

"Attitude, Navel-fluff. Watch it."

"He just showed up out of nowhere, alright, like one of those fucking leprechauns, and he's all 'Kurt and I broke up like _ages ago_, so he' just been stringing you along, _ha_ fucking _ha_' –"

"Wait, Kurt and Blazer-twink broke up?"

"Guess so."

"So you've been babbling your mouth off on the phone with _me_ while the boy that you've chasing around on all fours for like, months now, is _single_? _Dios mío_, Karofsky, you huge _girl_."

"You don't _get it_ –"

"Oh, I get it. I get it just _fine_. But, okay, let's just watch that ship sail away and _chat_. While we're young, if you don't mind."

"It's not like I can just get on the fucking ship, you know?"

"Of course you can't."

"Fuck you, Lopez, I'm serious!"

"Who said I wasn't? The boy's been talking to you for weeks, right, probably spending _your_ weight in gold in phone bills. He agreed to go out with you. He _dumped_ his gay pride parade leader of a boyfriend. It's straight up 'back off' behavior."

"It's not like _that_, you're twisting everything –"

"How is it, then? Tell Auntie like it is."

"We went out as friends, okay?"

"Sweetie pie, there's _no_ such thing."

"What, just 'cause we're both… you know, we can't be –"

"Hey, ho, hold your carthorses, Mr. Tummus. You know, maybe it _is_ better if you leave Kurt alone. If you can't say it then you sure can't do it."

"What?"

"The _gay_, Jockstrap. If you wanna do the _gay_ –"

"Dude, I'm home, okay? 'S not like I can just – my dad or my mom could hear."

"But it's fine if they listen to you gush about how you wanna hump Kurt like a bitch in heat?"

"I just don't – I don't want them to –"

"Right. You know what? I think you're better off with _my_ plan. Meet a nice girl, make sure she's thick as dried up concrete, have a bunch of drunken night babies and discover the glory in glory-hole. Lay off Kurt."

"_Now_ you tell me that?"

"He's _not_ for you. He's in a whole other level, Davey, and you can't keep up with him."

"Like you're one to talk."

"I'm not the one panting and drooling two steps behind Mr. Sweet Cheeks."

"No, but you've got Britt."

"No, I really don't."

"Shit, Tana, I –"

"I don't _need_ your pity party, Karofsky, you mope enough for the two of us. I'm fine with my ten-year plan of finding a big bushy beard and becoming a gym coach in an all-girls private school."

"You're mental."

"No, I'm rational. I'm _real_. I'm not ready to come out, don't know if I'll ever be. And you're not, either."

"I – you don't know that."

"You can't even _say it_."

"I can say it just fine, okay? But it's not really how I want my family to find out about it."

"You _can't_. Kurt wants a real man, not a scared little boy who's _this close_ to pissing himself in panic of people finding him out."

"Fuck. You. Lopez!"

"That's it, yell at me, like the big _man_ you are, aren't you, so special. _Not_."

"You don't know shit about my fucking life!"

"Oh, _please_. Like your life is that different from all the other _sad_ closet-cases with a sob-story."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You think you're special just because Kurt made you his pity-case? _Get out_, you're just every bit as _ordinary_ and pathetic as the rest of us, so _gay _for Hummel that you've almost jerked your dick raw thinking of him, and you can't even _say it_ –"

"I'm _gay_, okay! I'm fucking _gay_, happy now, I'm fucking gay for Kurt and for dick, so you can just suck it, Santana, just fucking _suck it_, 'cause you're gonna die alone and miserable, and I'm not, 'cause I'm fucking _gay _and I'm not a fucking pity-case!"

"_Nice_. That's the thanks I get for being such a Mother Theresa for the homosexual."

"…"

"Karofsky?"

"…"

"What, did you pass out or something? Got the vapors?"

"Hum, huh, sorry, Tana, I gotta go. I'll call you later, 'kay?"

"What? What just happened? Dave?"

"My – my mom. She – she heard me."

"Oh, _fuck_!"

"Yeah. I – I gotta go."

"Shit."

"…"

"Hum. Good luck, I guess."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"… Kurt?"<p>

"Dave? I've been calling you for _hours_!"

"Yeah, I –sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm just glad you're – are you alright?"

"I – I don't know."

"Santana –"

"She _told_ you?"

"She called me yesterday at one in the morning, nearly hyperventilating because she couldn't talk to you and she said – she said your mother heard you –"

"Yeah. Fucking chick can't hold her fucking mouth shut."

"She was _scared_ for you, Dave. You couldn't tell right away, because, well, it's Santana, but she was honestly worried."

"She should be. All her fucking fault, anyway."

"But what – what happened? Your parents –"

"Didn't kick me out, or anything, so you can cut the drama."

"Well, _forgive me_ for being worried about you!"

"Yeah, like you care so much."

"_What_ are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, I'm not homeless, you can put your caring little heart at ease, now. The closet-case pity-project is going fucking _swell_."

"What are you – no, we're deviating. I'm honestly relieved that you seem to be more or less whole and still with a roof over your head, but you have to _tell_ me, Dave. I don't dare guessing right now, and Santana wouldn't tell me _anything_, She was barely coherent, just a lot of Spanish and you _know_ I took French."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Of course there is, David!"

"…"

"Dave?"

"…"

"Oh, wonderful. And here was I thinking we had finally gotten past that."

"…"

"I should kill you for making me worry so much."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>thank god<em>, Dave!"

"… hi, Kurt."

"_Hi_. I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you say that."

"So, huh, you're not mad?"

"No, David, I'm not mad. In fact, I'm _way_ past mad at this point, I got past 'mad' _miles_ ago, and I was just about to exit on 'Hatter-Crazy' when you called."

"Huh."

"Do you know how many times I got in my car fully intending to drive to your house?"

"I –"

"_Fifteen_. I even got Finn to tag along, just to make sure I could get there faster without getting lost in the way. I was _seven_ times halfway up my street before I drove back, scared of just making everything worse!"

"You're such a drama queen."

"Don't fucking laugh at me!"

"What – shit, Fancy, are you crying?"

"N-no!"

"Yes – yes you are, God, don't do this, come on, I'm not fucking worth _that_, Jesus –"

"Just. Shut up, _Karofsky_."

"... okay."

"You have no fucking idea, do you, of how worried I was, with Santana calling me every five minutes, and you hanging up on me last night, and Finn running around like a headless fucking _chicken_, and I couldn't talk to you, I didn't know how you were, and I couldn't just go _see you_, and I care, alright, I fucking care, because your no one's pet-project, you're my _friend_, and I was worried sick over you, so don't you go calling me a fucking drama queen, because you have . No. Goddam. _Right_."

"…"

"Got it? Have you _got it_, _David_?"

"Y-yeah."

"_What_?"

"Y-yes! Yes, I've got it, you're – you're pissed and you're right and you're – you were worried about me."

"Hmm. That'll have to do."

"Can I just – I just need to hang up for a while, okay? I'll – I'll call you, I promise."

"_No_, David, don't –"

"Just fifteen minutes, okay? I – I promise."

"David, I swear to _whatever_, I swear on my _mother's grave_, alright, if you don't call me in fifteen minutes, I don't care if I end up in the hospital after, but I'll do my damned best to beat the living shit out of you."

"I – sure, fifteen minutes, I'll – I'll call you."

"Okay, then. As long as we're clear."

"Fucking crystal. Just –"

"_Go_."

"Okay."

"If you're hanging up to go play _Halo_ with one of your football buddies I'll be having your old baseball cards for breakfast with my cereal."

"…"

"Blaine was _never_ this much trouble."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Dave. Hi."<p>

"Hi, Kurt. Did I – I'm on time right?"

"On ti – oh, god, I – yes, of course, David, I'm _sorry_, I shouldn't have… _exploded_ at you, I was just, well, a bit out of sorts. But you certainly didn't need that. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I – I think I am. Just went out for a run."

"A run?"

"I needed to… sort things out. In my head. Fresh air, and all."

"Oh, I get it. Dancing usually does that for me."

"Yeah."

"So, do you – I'll understand if you don't, after that _scene_ –"

"Fancy, _don't_. God, don't, I – _thank you_. I needed that, okay?"

"No, you really didn't need my drama –"

"I like your drama. I _want_ your drama."

"_Oh…_"

"I mean –"

"I –"

"Shit. Sorry, you go."

"No, you were first –"

"Really, it's nothing –"

"No, I – oh, for the sake of Macy spring sales, _what_ are we even _doing_?"

"Fuck if I know."

"Alright. I would honestly like you to tell me what happened, David. First with Santana and then with your parents – if you want to, that is."

"Yeah."

"Really? Because you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I do. You deserve to know, Fancy."

"O-okay. Thank you."

"Right. So, huh, Santana. I called her the day before yesterday, 'cause I needed to – talk to her about something. Something –"

"You only tell me what you want me to know, Dave. Please."

"Okay. So, something. And then we were talking and she was just bitchy like always so, not fine, but normal."

"Go on."

"And then… I said something, I mean, I wouldn't say _something_ and she just fucking flipped her shit."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't say I was… gay. I'm – fuck I'm… gay. _I'm gay_."

"Oh, _David_…"

"Don't go getting all emotional, okay? 'S just –"

"A _huge-ass_ step forward, Dave."

"You _have got_ to stop hanging around me."

"I know. It's death on my vocabulary. Yesterday, I told Finn that _Master Chef_ was 'the shit'."

"… _seriously_?"

"Stop laughing, this is _very_ serious."

"You're so fucking cu–"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You were _clearly _going to say some –"

"Yeah, so, she flipped out and started fucking _attacking_ me, fucking coming at me with _everything_, pulling all goddamn stops. And I told her to cut it the fuck out, 'cause my parents were home and I didn't wanna say it where they could hear me, get it?"

"Yes, _of course_."

"But she just kept going and going and fucking yapping my ear off and I – Jesus, I fucking snapped, Kurt."

"What did you –"

"Forget about my parents, I bet the whole goddamn street knows I'm gay by now. _Shit_, it starts coming out easy, doesn't it?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I'm so – Dave there are _no words_ for how proud I am right now."

"Awww."

"Don't deflect. I _am_."

"Don't know why. 'S not like I planned it, or anything. 'Sides, it's not even that big a deal."

"Not that big – David, are you in shock? Traumatized? Don't you honestly see what this _is_? It's like you just opened the door to a whole new _world_ in front of you, a whole new _life_. Forget about people at school, or _anyone else_, are you listening to _yourself_? This is – this is _amazing_, Dave, no, this is – a _revelation_!"

"Gotta hand it to you, Fancy. You always know how to make the most of the moment."

"Oh, shut up. Fine, you just _fully_ came out to yourself, just accepted your sexuality aloud for the first time, but it's no big deal. Just your sense of identity, that's all."

"Hey, don't label me. There's more to me than being gay, y'know? Always wanted to drive one of those one-horse carriages they always show at the Central Park."

"And I'm sure you'll be splendid at it. You will finally have a being with whom you might converse on the same level of intelligence."

"Ouch, Fancy. You were doing so well, all sweetness and 'hallelujahs'."

"See if I do it again, you ungrateful prat."

"Who said anything about ungrateful, huh? Seriously, you're just what I needed."

"I – _I am_?"

"S-sure. Like, y'know, this feels fucking huge, but my parents were kinda anticlimactic about it."

"In a good way?"

"I guess. We just sat down at the table and _talked_. They were so fucking _calm_."

"What did they say?"

"They asked if I was sure, if it wasn't just, y'know, confusion, and if anyone at school knew about it."

"And you?"

"I said I was like 110% sure. Fuck, you have no idea how much research I did, hoping I was one of those bi-curious types, or even just plain bi, 'cause that would mean I got to choose, right?"

"I – I've done a little research myself, and I don't think it really _works_ like that, but I get your point."

"Right. So I told them that, and told them Santana knew and my mom just gave me this _look_, like she would give me after catching me with cookie crumbles all over my clothes."

"Really? I knew the bearding was a bit over the top, but I'm liking your mother better by the second."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, Santana, and then I said _you_ and my dad gives me this fucking _nod_, and what the fuck did that even _mean_, think they were just jerking me around, waiting for me to slip up and tell them?"

"Well."

"_What_?"

"_My_ father knew before I told him."

"Huh –"

"Oh, go ahead, I've been told that my closet was a little on the transparent side."

"Nope, not saying a word. I learn my lessons."

"Good to know. And then?"

"That was it. They just sent me to bed, after. Thank God Alex was asleep the whole time."

"That was _it_? Nothing else?"

"Huh – they kinda hugged me?"

"'_Kinda_'?"

"Fine, we had our very own home-made Kodak moment, calm your shit. My mom was totally gonna start crying, but I just told her to cut it out, 's not the fucking end of the world."

"I –"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, god, there's – _no_ _words_, Dave, you are –"

"Look, it fucking is, okay, I _know_ that. I just didn't want her crying over me or my sorry-ass future. So don't go getting all proud as fuck on me again."

"I'ts _not_. Dave, _please_, just trust me on this."

"I don't know how you can even say that."

"Why?"

"_Why_? Kurt, you had to fucking _transfer_ all because a psychotic asshole, _me_, alright, said he'd kill you if you told anyone he had fucking assaulted you!"

"Now who's the drama queen here?"

"Fuck, Kurt –"

"Please, Dave, _don't_. I know what you did. I was there, remember? And no, it wasn't the brightest spot in my downcast days, but I'm here, aren't I?"

"Don't rightly know how the fuck _that_ happened."

"To be honest, neither do I. But it _did_. And I'm not – I don't regret it."

"So what, you'd just go through me bullying you again if it meant –"

"Being able to talk to you now? Knowing you? Having your friendship? In a heartbeat, David."

"You – you're mental, Fancy."

"Maybe a little."

"No, really, you're just _insane_ right now, okay? I'm almost giving up talking to you, 'cause you stopped making sense like five exits ago."

"Well, you're not the most rational, level-headed of creatures either, so I guess we're evenly matched."

"You guess. He _guesses_."

"So. Your parents are… fine with this, then?"

"Yeah. 'S a bit awkward still, but my mom – _God_, we were having breakfast this morning, right, and I just asked her to _pass the toast_ and, guess what, she just fucking blurts out 'So, have you seen any guys you think are cute yet?'"

"Ohmygod. Oh my god, David, oh my god, I can't –"

"No, seriously! I mean, is she for fucking _real_?"

"Oh, shit, I think I cracked a rib, oh my god –"

"And then my _dad_ starts making these _signs_ with his hands and trying to be, y'know, discreet about it, and my mom's just looking at me, and I realize she's _really_ fucking expecting an answer so I say 'Gee, mom, the quarterback is just _dreamy_, can I bring him home to meet you guys?" and, can you fucking believe this, she starts _nodding_ and my dad fucking cracks and then we can barely get our shit together to finish eating."

"…"

"You're totally gonna bust something you might need later, y'know?"

"I can't even – holy heavenly Coco, Dave, what is wrong with our parents, _really_ –"

"Not a goddamn _clue_."

"My dad – oh god, _air_ – my dad gave me these _pamphlets_ about gay sex a while ago, you should have seen him, he was _mortified_, and I wasn't any better, but he just _pulled through_. Once the suicidal embarrassment was over, I was even a little proud."

"Hum. Nice pamphlets?"

"They're _mine_. You go get your informational soft-core porn yourself."

"I could always ask my mom."

"Your mom – oh god, your mom and my dad should get together someday. They could have a cup of commiseration coffee down at the Lima Bean."

"Yeah, 'cause it worked _so well_ the last time you tried that."

"What – _oh_. Well, at the time it worked out _perfectly_ for me."

"I bet."

"Hmm, brooding again?"

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"I – hum. So. I should tell Santana. Call off the search team, or something."

"I guess you should."

"Right, so –"

"I get to hang up now!"

"Christ, Fancy, watch the sound barrier!"

"Sorry. But I totally do."

"Fine, go ahead. Knock yourself out."

"Bye, Dave, I'll call you."

"You don't have to."

"… _seriously_?"

"Kidding. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"If I'm feeling like it."

"As you wish."

"That – is _that_ – forget it."

"What?"

"No, it's just – I thought I _remembered_ something but – leave it. Goodbye, Dave."

"Bye, Kurt."

"…"

"Tomorrow. Right. Santana now."

"…"

"I'm so fucking in love with you, Kurt."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note 2.0:<strong> Santana blew me right out of the water with this, Jesus. I like it when characters surprise me, but WHOA. And Kurt, too. He's getting mouthy.


	11. I Did Love Till He Broke My Heart

**Author's Notes:** Hmmm, I really hope this doesn't disappoint, I know I'm pushing it with the half-chapters. Oh the other hand, we're _very_ close to the end; I've just figured out that there will be only three more, being one of those the other half of this, and the other two another _two_ halves of a sole chapter. And _then_, the epilogue. And some extra kind-of-a-sequel one-shots. SMUTTY one-shots, because, really, who am I kidding, Kurtofsky is end-game.

**GayForKurt**: Glad you gave it a chance! Hmmm, there _will_ be steamy sex scenes, but I'll probably be staying close to this format for _this_ story. However, as soon as I pick up "Who Said Anything..." and _finish_ it, I'll be flooding this thing with smut. Traditionally formatted smut, that is.

**awkward innuendo:** Thanks! I wasn't even planning on it, but I _like_ her. And yeah, Dave, _come on_.

**dorydafish:** Oh God. I'm just gonna hug your review, curl into fetal position and love it till the day I die, I hope you don't mind.

**threeoctopusesandanotter:** Don't! It's coming! It really is!

**SaveKenny:** Oh, I _love_ angst, but only when there's a clear happy ending in sight, or else I get literal and metaphorical heartburn, seriously.

* * *

><p>"Who's this?"<p>

"Hi, Kurt."

"Dave! _Finally_! What happened to your phone?"

"Fucking dog fucking _ate_ my fucking phone."

"…_no_."

"Yeah."

"Wait, I didn't even know you _had_ a dog."

"Yeah you did, I told you. Willy."

"Is '_Willy_' immortal by any chance?"

"Don't say it like that, I was like, four, and he wouldn't even answer to anything else after a while. And _no,_ 'course not."

"You talked of a Willy going with you to the park when you were little."

"Yeah, 's the same. He was just a pup. But now he's fucking huge, and fucking _senile_, and he ate my fucking _phone_."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Real funny, huh? "

"N-no. Just a little bit?"

"Ha fucking _ha_. Should've been your phone."

"Don't _even_. I could have gone into shock after you almost crashed mine that one time."

"What time?"

"_That_ time."

"That – oh."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. It would be very mild shock, if you take into account the events that followed."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, for Barbra's sake, _David_."

"What? What do you want me to say? _God_, I'll say it, whatever you want, just–"

"I'm _kidding_. But you could have just _told me_."

"That I was gay? Fuck, Fancy, I couldn't even say it right 'till two days ago."

"I didn't mean _that_, exactly, I just – never mind."

"Huh?"

"_Never mind_."

"As you wish, Princess."

"_What_?"

"Sorry, sorry. King Kurt."

"I – god, _David_, I'm starting to understand how Finn feels all the time."

"Aww, you're not slow, you're just really special."

"I'm _slow_, now?"

"_Special._"

"I _hate_ you."

"..."

"Oh, for the sake of Prada, I didn't mean that. You _know_ I didn't."

"…really?"

"Pfft. And _I'm_ slow?"

"Spe –"

"Okay, I'm just gonna stop you right there, before this gets ugly. So. Did you get a new phone?"

"…hum. My dad had this extra one that the company gave him, so he gave it to me. But it's really fucking fancy, and I've got no idea how the goddamn thing works. Shit keeps popping up."

"Nice things are completely wasted on you. What did you want, two cans and a string?"

"Jeez, Fancy. What did I do _now_?"

"_Nothing_."

"Shyeah, right."

"Hmm. You're lucky to have all the numbers written down, then."

"What?"

"I mean, I'm always thinking I have to do it in case I ever misplace my phone, but I never get around to it."

"What are you talking about, I don't have the numbers written down."

"Then how – you're not psychic, are you?"

"Wha –"

"No, obviously _not._ You're not in league with the Secret Services, then, are you?"

"You know, you're kinda hard to follow when you go off on your little tangents."

"My _number_, David. How did you even know to dial my number?"

"Good with those, I guess."

"You know all the numbers in your contact list _by heart_?"

"What, _no_, do I look like a goddamn android phonebook to you? Jus' know some. You know, my parents', my sisters', the house –"

"_Mine_."

"Call you almost every fucking day, don't I?"

"I'm just… flattered. And incredibly ashamed that I don't know yours."

"'S alright, Fancy."

"I'm dreadful with numbers. I sometimes blank out on my _own_."

"That's just… _sad_."

"Not everyone's got a crush on irrational numbers, Mr. I-take-Calculus-before-everyone-else-because-it's-fun-and-I'm-a-real-dork."

"Dude, you're in g_lee club_. Where do you get off calling other people dorks?"

"Glee club is elite. One day, we'll rule the world."

"_Uh-huh_."

"Or rather, _I_ will. They'll be my minions. And I even have my shiny knock-off tiara to go with the title."

"Supreme Rocking Emperor of All the Known and Unknown Goddamn Universe?"

"_Excellent_, David. You'll be very useful."

"Gonna take me as your kept boy?"

"Hmm, I thought I'd have Puck for it. Oh, well."

"Nah, you chose right. He's got the guns for the job, after all."

"Oh, _really_?"

"Yep."

"I didn't know you were _noticing_."

"What, you get to, but no one else does? Besides, it's not like I can help it, with the way he flaunts it all the time."

"Hum."

"But I guess it's all 'bout personal taste, right? Like, Sam's got the better ass, Mike's got the abs –"

"It's _Sam_, now? _Mike_?"

"And _Finn_'s got that whole goofy good-guy thing going on, and I guess it works."

"It _does_?"

"And _Artie_, if you're into nerdy types, I guess."

"Good to know."

"That's _all_ the guys in your club, right?"

"I have to go. It's my turn to vacuum."

"Hope I'm not _forgetting_ any – _Aww_, but I thought we were brainstorming your plans for world domination! And, you know, talking _guys_."

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

"'Kay then. I'll call you later, Kurtie."

"_What_? I –going."

"Hum."

"…"

"You totally started it, Fancy."

"…"

"Now, if I could just figure out where's the fucking turn off button in this thing…"

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Kurt!"<p>

"Blaine, please, can it wait? I'm not feeling up to my usual form right now."

"Oh. What is it? Have you got the bug that's been going around?"

"There's a bug going around?"

"There's _always_ a bug going around."

"…no, I haven't caught anything. I'm just feeling a little disgusting and anti-social, that's all."

"Oh, come on, tell me. Then I can let you in on the news about Terry."

"Who's _Terry_?"

"That guy I told you about. Didn't I tell you his name was Terry?"

"You did not. Blaine, really –"

"It's not a _bad_ name, is it? Like _Bernard_. My mother wanted to call me Bernard, but my dad wouldn't let her. Must have thought it was too gay."

"Blaine, I'm sorry, I'm not at my best by _far_, and, quite frankly, you're the last person who could be of any help right now."

"Oh, _why_?"

"Because I'm feeling ugly and awkward, and bloated with cookie dough, and just plain _repellent_. And you once told me that my sexy faces made me look like I had gas pains."

"Do you want me to come over and cheer you up?"

"Please do. Oh, and bring rope. I'm spying this wonderfully sturdy branch just outside my window that would be _perfect_ for hanging myself."

"O-kay! This is _bad_, Kurt, what happened?"

"Nothing. Just let me wallow in self-pity. Don't I get the right?"

"What sort of friend would I be if I did?"

"An obliging one?"

"Come on. Tell me."

"I'm a love pariah."

"Aren't we all."

"_Blaine_!"

"Was that a _growl_? So _cute_!"

"Kill. Me."

"No. Even if it meant getting that jacket of yours from Marc Jacob's Fall 2009 collection."

"Ugh. Dream on, _bitch_."

"You're mouthy when you're depressed. Good to know."

"No one _wants me_."

"…"

"Stop humming drunken karaoke choices!"

"…sorry. It's _so_ catchy."

"_Why_ do I only get crushes on boys that quite obviously want nothing to do with me?"

"Someone I know?"

"You _know _who I'm talking about."

"_Actually, _no."

"_Dave_."

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

"_Karofsky_."

"You're not making any sense, Kurt."

"I'm hanging up on you and eating cupcake frosting right out of the can."

"Because, well, the only Dave Karofsky _I know_ looks at you like he wants to pick you up and spread you all over his morning toast."

"_Liar_."

"Never on such serious matters."

"He _doesn't_. Not anymore, if he ever _did_."

"Have you had a fall lately?"

"What?"

"'Cause if you did, by what I'm hearing, there's a likely chance you might have fallen square on your head."

"Uhgh, _Blaine_. I can't handle complexity right now."

"Would you like me to give it to you straight? Now, _there_'s an interesting turn of phrase."

"_Please_."

"David Karofsky wants your _babies_, Kurt."

"_Liar_."

"Well, if you're gonna be like that –"

"He won't even _kiss me_! And _yesterday_ – yesterday he kept talking about Puck's guns, and Sam's ass, and god only knows what else!"

"Sam _does_ have a very nice ass."

"_Uhgh_!"

"Kurt, come on."

"…"

"Kurt?"

"…"

"Well, this is new."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"You're a <em>strong<em>, independent man, Kurt."

"Fuck off."

"_Well_."

"Oh god, Blaine, I'm sorry, but I can't –"

"That boy _loves_ you, Kurt."

"You don't _know_ that. You saw us together for like, _two minutes_ –"

"And I saw _enough_. Kurt, if I'm ever lucky enough to find someone who will just _look_ at me like that, I'm counting on _you_ to make sure I never let him go. Just like I'm doing now."

"I – I thought that too, but he wouldn't even get close to me, and when he _would,_ he always pulled away, and I _checked_, my breath was fine, there was nothing specifically wrong with me, so it's him, he's confused out of his _mind_ –"

"Kurt, stop it."

"And I was the only gay kid he knew, so he forced himself in love with me, but he's gone so far already, and he's leaving me behind, and it's not _fucking fair_, because he made me fall for him, the stupid jerk made me _fall for him_, with his stupid hands, and his stupid eyes, and his stupid _voice_, and his stupid_, stupid_ words!"

"Oh, Kurt…"

"What am I supposed to do now, Blaine, tell me, you always have all the answers, don't you –"

"Not even close. Oh God, Kurt –"

"I never _meant_ for this to happen, you know? I was going to be his mentor, but then I was his friend, and I never thought he would be this _guy_, so what was I supposed to do, how was I supposed to – _not _like him, not want him, not _need_ him, god, it's like I can't go through the day in peace without hearing his _voice_, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore! It's a mess, just a mess, such a fucking _mess_, and he wasn't supposed to be the Kurt to my Blaine, he wasn't, he _wasn't_, but if he _was_, then why can't I just find a nice shop assistant at Bloomingdale's, _why_?"

"Don't cry, Kurt, please –"

"I have to, I really _have to_, because I'm _dumb_, and I always do this! I fall too deep, I know that, but I thought I had control here, because it didn't feel like this with Finn, or S_am _for god's sake, or even _you_. With him it was just _there_, but it _wasn't_, and I didn't notice it until it was too late, until it was this _thing_, this huge messy _thing_, so what am I supposed to do _now_?"

"Hold up. Hold up, Kurt, I'll call you in five."

"Don't, I – I'm a disaster-zone all by myself, Blaine, I'm just –"

"…"

"Go ahead, save yourself."

"…"

"Where the fuck are my Kleenex?"

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Did you just call Finn and had him drive all the way here from Rachel's to give me a <em>hug<em>?"

"Well, I figured it would take him less time than me to get there."

"I don't deserve to have friends."

"Was it a good hug?"

"I sort of slobbered all over his t-shirt, but he said it was fine. It made me feel a little guilty for snapping at him over getting cranberry juice on my Prada shirt the other day."

"No residual feelings, I hope. I was kinda on the fence with that, but I figured it would be better than having you drown in heartbreak and despair."

"Uhgh, not you _too_. No, no feelings. Just nice. He's good at this brotherly stuff."

"Oh, good. Feeling any better?"

"Strangely, yes. Oh, and Rachel sent me a written contract stating she will voluntarily give at least five solos over to me during the next year, _just to cheer me up_."

"That was nice of her."

"And possibly indicating of head trauma, but it's _my_ gift horse now."

"About David –"

"Don't. I need a new box of Kleenex."

"Kurt, I don't know exactly what might be going through his head right now, but I know feelings don't just _disappear_ like that."

"_Yours _did."

"Come again?"

"_You_ told me you loved me – and quite a few times at that."

"And I still do. I might have had romantic love and 'friendly' love a bit mixed up, but it didn't just _disappear_. We just weren't – right for each other, or it wasn't our time, what do I know. And, if I remember correctly, you said it back, so stones and glass roofs, hum? We were attracted to each other and confused things, Kurt."

"Well, maybe that's what happened to D-Dave."

"Kurt –"

"I'm – I'm okay. It's probably just midsummer allergies."

"I don't think Karofsky is the type of guy to mix up that sort of thing, Kurt, I really don't."

"You don't _know_ him."

"No, but _you_ do. Can you honestly tell me, _knowing_ him, that that guy feels absolutely _nothing_ for you?"

"He –"

"He's scared, Kurt. Who wouldn't be?"

"I g-guess –"

"What?"

"Maybe. I don't know. He says things sometimes, I –"

"Yes?"

"And there was the phone – sex _thing_."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I think you have a real miscommunication problem going there. You _have _to _talk_."

"We talk all the time! That was the problem to begin with!"

"I see. But if you can't _tell _him, it doesn't mean you can't still _let him know_. You know, the way we do best."

"What, _sing _itto him?"

"Is it that far-fetched?"

"Are you serious? _Me_, serenading _David Karofsky_?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"No, they haven't. _Trust me_."

"Well, I'll leave you to sleep on it."

"Blaine!"

"Bye, Kurt!"

"Blaine Anderson, you manipulative puppet-master, don't hang up on me!"

"…"

"There is _no way_."

"…"

"_No way_."

"…"

"Oh _god_."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>"Sorry, sorry, can't fucking figure out this fucking thing. Stupid phone."<p>

"Hum, hi?"

"Got buttons where there shouldn't be any fucking buttons, I'll fucking _swear_ they change places when I'm not looking."

"Maybe you should just trade it in for a simple one. With voiced instructions. Possibly a gold star system."

"_Funny_. Hi, Kurt."

"… hi."

"Wait, did I do something? Shit, I didn't reject your calls or something, did I? 'Cause if I did, it was totally the thing's fault."

"_It_ has a name, Dave, honestly."

"'S called 'ruining my fucking life', that's what. But, seriously, you okay?"

"I'm _fine_. Just allergies."

"Huh. Thought they would have come earlier."

"I was always a late bloomer."

"Hmm. So…"

"Yes?"

"Shit, don't even know how to –"

"_What_?"

"My _mom_ wants you to come over some day."

"…"

"I know, that's what _I _said."

"I –"

"Look, you don't have to, alright? 'S just – she wants to meet you and shit."

"Oh. Am I _cute,_ then?"

"What."

"Well, you said she –"

"What, no! 'S not like that!"

"Okay."

"Fuck, I don't even –"

"I should go. Finn's probably cooking up disaster wherever he is."

"Fuck Hudson, just –"

"I don't think he would be on board with that."

"Goddamn it, I – my dad told her about you, okay? Last year, my almost-expulsion?"

"_Oh_."

"Yeah."

"She must _hate_ me, David, what were you _thinking_? I can't!"

"Are you mental? Of course she doesn't, stop that, she just knows we've been talking and that you're, hum, _also_ gay, and that we're friends now. She's just being all lame and weird about it."

"Is it weird for her to want to meet your friends?"

"I'm _seventeen_, for fuck's sake!"

"_That_ was mature."

"Shut up."

"As was that. Are you sure she isn't grinding her axe right now?"

"I told you, she'd love you. You're like her dream son or whatever."

"Well, I _did_ get her son almost-expelled."

"Her fucking _son_ got himself almost-expelled, Fancy."

"Okay."

"_Okay_?"

"When do you want me?"

"… huh. _What_?"

"When would it be best for you to have me?"

"I, hum, I –"

"David!"

"… yeah?"

"Me. Your house. _When_?"

"Oh. Oh! Dunno, whenever you want."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure. She's working the day shift at the hospital, but you can come over after lunch – I mean, if you want to. You could eat with us, but it's probably gonna be leftovers from whatever my dad cooks for dinner tonight. He's not really the best cook in the world."

"Your mother is a doctor?"

"Nah, nurse. My grandparents couldn't afford medical school. But she likes it, I guess."

"Oh, maybe I've met her. I spent entirely too much time in the hospital last year."

"Don't think so, she works in the maternity ward. Says it curbs the reproducing urge a bit, or whatever. Moms are fucking _weird_."

"She sounds nice."

"Oh, _shit_, fuck me in my big fucking mouth, Kurt, I didn't –"

"I _know_, David. It's fine."

"No, it fucking _isn't_, just kick me in the nuts next time you see me, okay? I fucking deserve it."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's probably for the best if I eat here, Carole is going to be out all day and Finn gets antsy and overly friendly with kitchen appliances when he can't find the food right away."

"Hum. Traumatic experience?"

"Still trying to suppress. So, tomorrow around three?"

"Works for me. Aww, shit, my sister's gonna be home."

"Little one or big one?"

"… y'know, it's kinda sad that they're both shorter than me. Lil' one."

"I'll finally get to meet her, then."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Don't be _mean_. She doesn't hate me, does she?"

"What – no one _hates_ you, Fancy, where the hell are you getting this?"

"Well, I'm guessing I wasn't your favorite person for a long time. I tremble at what they might have heard about me."

"Not as much as you'd think."

"Oh?"

"Come on, are you serious? Like I was gonna talk to them about you. I mean, with the bullying and then the –"

"The _what_?"

"I just didn't talk about you. For obvious reasons."

"Those being…?"

"You _know_."

"Actually, I don't."

"Yeah, Fancy, right. No one hates you, your ass is safe, and my sis' is gonna have a fucking blast mouthing off about me."

"You're the most frustrating creature know to man, David."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, _you know_. So Alex, is it?"

"…huh, yeah. But you'd better call her Alexis, she hates it when I call her Alex."

"That, I imagine, is the exact reason why you do it."

"Man of habits, huh, _Fancy_?"

"I already like her. We'll commiserate."

"Yeah, she used to love it when she was a baby, and she still doesn't mind _Em_ calling her that, but when it's _me_…"

"You have an aggravating personality. It might be that."

"_Ouch_."

"The truth must be freed."

"You're a pain."

"You love it. Hum, gotta go."

"_What_?"

"Plans must be made. Bye, David!"

"The fuck…"

"…"

"_Bye_, Fancy."

"…"

"Yeah, I totally do."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes 2.0:<strong> Sooo, I'm breaking all the promises to myself here. But the next chapter is something I've been thinking of writing for a _long_ time, so.


	12. Always Up For A Laugh

**Author's Note:** Late again, I know. But it's totally my dad's fault for giving me my first Mac ever *sighs, pets computer*. It's soo shiny. And this is, yet again, a double chapter - or else, a double, double chapter. Or a double chapter and a half *shrugs*. It was way to long already, so I decided to post the first part like this, and the other one is already written and edited - no freakishly long waiting periods, just two days to give you guys time to digest this. Have a nice read!

-

"Three, two, one…"

"…"

"_Come on_."

"… hi, Kurt."

"There he is."

"_Bye_, Kurt."

"Oh, don't be like that."

"I won't if you stop messing with me."

"I think you should start introducing variants. Like, "Hi, Fancy, or 'Hello, Kurt', or even 'Howdy, partner', if you're looking to mix things up a bit. I like the last one."

"Will you let it go?"

"But –"

"What's so fucking wrong with it, huh? _Jesus_."

"You _always_ say it."

"'M being polite."

"You're never polite."

"Then I'm being _nice_."

"Nice is overrated."

"_Tell me_ you come with a manual and that mine just go lost in the mail."

"I wouldn't know. Why?"

"You fucking _said_ –"

"What? What did I say?"

"_Nothing_."

"Communication is the key, David."

"Fuck communication."

"And there goes the foundation of our entire society."

"Fuck society."

"You sure are in a mood today. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"_Dave_ –"

"Shit, just – ignore me, alright? 'S just one of those days, I guess."

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't have said those things if I knew you were in a bad mood."

"'S alright. It's stupid, I know, I just –"

"What? Dave, at this point you could probably tell me all about the collection of human thumbs that you keep under the mattress and I wouldn't say a thing."

"Aww, didn't know you thought such nice things about me."

"What I _meant_ to say was that we've heard all kinds of crap from each other. We're at that point."

"Huh."

"_Please_."

"You said that you liked nice people. Once."

"I'm sure I did. Nice people are very likable. It's one of their best traits."

"No, you – you said you liked _nice_, okay? Not people like – like _me_, you liked guys who said 'Hi, Kurt' and didn't call you f-fag, or whatever."

"…"

"Shit, it probably didn't even go like that, I just –"

"Hi, Dave."

"Hum. Hi, Kurt."

"_So_, are we still on for today?"

"… yeah. Yeah, of course we are. I mean, you're still coming, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Awww."

"I can't wait to meet your _mom_. And your _sister_. And your _dog_. Is your dad home?"

"No, but you made your point. What am I, yesterday's trash?"

"Yesterday? Don't flatter yourself, David."

"_Ouch_. Hey, Fancy, I'm gay."

"… I'm sure you'll explain how is that in any way relevant to the subject."

"Was expecting a little 'I'm so proud of you, David!', that's all."

"Well, maybe you should have treasured it while you had it."

"Oh."

"But I am."

"_Oh_."

"Stop smirking, I can hear it in your _voice._"

"Sorry."

"You're insufferable."

"You _like it_."

"Do I, now."

"You're my _friend_. You _care_."

"Oh, look, my hair is positively disgraceful. I'll have to wash it, and it'll probably take _all_ afternoon, will you look at that."

"Jesus, don't, my mom will start thinking you're some imaginary phone-buddy I came up with to deal with my sexuality crisis, or some shit."

"Hum. Then I'm bringing whatever is left from my math summer work and you're helping me with it."

"Sure."

"Nerd."

"Geek."

"Gleek, if you please."

"… seriously?"

"Hmph. How is it going with your new phone, then? You don't sound nearly as frustrated as you did yesterday."

"I'm kinda… I don't know, it's growing on me? It's sorta cute, it's got these crazy badass icons, and real _awesome_ graphics, and it's all sleek and stuff."

"Why, David, I think you might be in love!"

"Shut up. It's really high-maintenance, though. Loves to fuck with my head."

"The _phone_?"

"What else?"

"… I – I don't know."

"Good thing Willy ate my other one."

"I g-guess."

"Fancy?"

"What?"

"Hum."

"Articulation, thy name is David. Why don't you try to get your old number back, then?"

"Figured it was a good way as any to throw the Mob off my trail."

"Your phone probably as some camouflage function, somewhere."

"Hmm, maybe. It's really neat. _Crazy_ talented."

"For a mobile phone?"

"Yep."

"_God,_ Dave."

"What?"

"I don't even _know_."

"Hum. Okay. Want me to wait?"

"Wait?"

"Till you remember?"

"Remember _what_?"

"What you were gonna say."

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Okay."

"Were_ you_?"

"Not really."

"…"

"By the way, sorry to disappoint but you're not gonna be meeting my dog today."

"I – why?"

"He ate my phone."

"Don't tell me you kicked him out. Honestly, David."

"Huh, it hasn't – come out yet, if you know what I mean."

"What hasn't – Oh! _Oh_. Ew. _Ouch_."

"Pretty much. My dad left him at the vet before work, he's gonna spend the night."

"What size was – no, _no_, we are _not_ discussing this. Subject change, please."

"Hmm. Help me with my U.S. history essay? And I still have this whale of a book report to write."

"I'll do what I can. Which book?"

"Picture of something by this Dorian dude."

"Oh my god, are you _serious_?"

"What? It's not huge or something, is it? I already got a copy, but if that's like, volume I, I'm –"

"_David_. Be glad that I _know_ you have something in your head other than bird seeds, or I would be forced to break off our intercourse entirely."

"Break off _what_?"

"At the very beginning of our romantic relationship, Blaine would make love to me quite fervently quoting from that book."

"_What _in the_ fuck_?"

"I'm sure we are to be very gay today, and have a splendid time together, David."

"Ha, I totally know this, Em made me read _Emma_. I actually thought that sleaze was humping her in the carriage."

"Shut up, Jane Austen is _fabulous_. And it's _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, you lummox. By Oscar Wilde."

"That guy? He was on some list of Famous Dead Gays or something."

"Oh yes."

"_Dude_."

"Sorry you haven't read the book already?"

"Hum."

"_That_ is exactly what I mean when I say you have to be educated. Honestly, not to know about Oscar Wilde."

"Oh. Really?"

"What did you think it meant?"

"N-nothing."

"_Mm-hmm._"

"So. Huh. Gotta go eat."

"Page 13 to 21, Dave. For starters."

"… see you at three?"

"Sharp?"

"If you want."

"I'll be there."

"'Kay. Bye, Kurt."

"Bye, Dave."

"…"

"What –"

"…"

"Get away from the oven, Finn, I can _smell_ the house fire that you _think_ you're cooking!"

"…"

"…"

-

Kurt Fucking Hummel is coming to his house.

No, seriously, there are words in the English language that should never come together in a sentence, okay? Like _Hummel,_ and _house_, and _his_ as in _Dave's_, as in Kurt is coming to his house today and Dave still hasn't managed to scrub off the fucking _immortal_ patch of mold in his and Alex's bathroom. _No one_ ever managed to clean that off, so he isn't feeling as incompetent and pathetic as he probably should, because, fuck, the spot came with the house, it gloriously burst through four layers of paint since they moved in, and there is no fucking rotting problem on the roof for fuck's sake, there never _has_ been, this was just the god of realtors' way of fucking around with the Karofsky family, _God_'s own hilarious way of royally fucking up Dave's life, because Kurt is going to look up once, blink, wrinkle that cute little nose of his, and _evaporate_ sooner than it'll take for Dave to say 'It's kinda part of the family, now.'

And Dave is _not_ risking losing whatever this is with Kurt, this constant mood-swinging, sheets-staining, mind-fucking, blue-balls-inducing, fuck-up of a situation, _hell no_. Not over a lousy mold stain.

He gives up after the Active Detergent For Permanent Mold Removal starts smoking through his gloves. It's not like he can't just tape one of Alex's old drawings over it and pretend they're the lamest family alive, or, you know, just lock the goddamn bathroom and tell Kurt they're renovating. Right?

Right.

He showers with his head bent, his neck aching in hot, throbbing pain under the scalding water; a whole hour of standing on a ladder looking up at an ugly-ass mold stain sure has its setbacks. The Sistine Chapel sure turned out kind of awesome, but Dave can't even manage to clean his own bathroom ceiling.

He washes himself quickly and tad bit paranoid, tossing around 'chubby boys' and 'sweat too much' in his head. And, yeah, right, of fucking course that leads to him thinking of _Kurt_, of naked collarbones and sharp hipbones under soft blue fabric, and _shit, _he has already jerked off twice since he woke up, because _clearly _his subconscious has decided that he doesn't think enough about Kurt during the day as it is, so he had been dreaming the whole damn night, woke up tired than when he'd gone to bed in the first place, and so fucking turned on that it had taken him only one and a half strokes before he was coming all over his new 'Fuck H8' t-shirt.

Because, yeah, his mom is fucking insane, probably one bong too many during college, and she honestly _thought_ that Dave was going to walk around with a t-shirt saying 'Some Dudes Marry Dudes'. Yeah, no fucking _way_. But it still bums him that it has gotten wrecked so soon. It was kind of growing on him, the fucking shirt, but it's probably for the best, it made him think things that he should never think about, because Kurt had said so, the world is no fair place, and some dudes might marry dudes, but prom-queen-divas did _not_ marry fat-ass-bullies, and where the fuck has his mind gone to _now_, it's like he can't get distracted for a single goddamn second, and, _oh_, right, there it is, his hand on his cock, the other one palm-forward on the wet tiles, his teeth biting hard on his bottom lip, his eyelids firmly shut –

_"You'd be my first." _

– against bright blue eyes and slender, lovely fingers on his arm, soft pink lips and –

_"You can – you can kiss them." _

– _fuck_, he just wanted to be left alone, have a friend come over without having to go into full panic-mode over askew dishtowels and the appropriate ratio of tiny soaps per bathroom, _right_, thank you ever so much. Why couldn't he just be Kurt's friend, just a goddamn decent friend to him, instead of this perverted/obsessed hybrid-stalker-creep rubbing one off in the shower with his eyes closed because he can't stand to look at himself, it doesn't matter how disgusted Fancy might be, Dave is perfectly capable of punishing himself extremely well, yes he is.

_"I would never forget you, David."_

His hand is fast and unforgiving around his cock, like always when he thinks of Kurt, because this isn't right, Fancy doesn't deserve this, but fuck, fuck, _fuck_, so fucking gorgeous leaning against his truck, more beautiful than it should be allowed by law, and Dave _knows_ that can't be his to touch, to want, to lust after, to fucking _love_ and adore and goddamn _worship_, and his thumb sweeps over the head of his dick with painful pressure and Kurt's skin would be flushed and damp – and he would look up at Dave with fucking hearts in his eyes and crook one finger and Dave would do anything he wanted, really he _would_, drop to the floor on his knees in fucking adoration or just _drop_ and let Kurt step all over him. He pressed in a tight desperate line, biting the inside of his cheek and breathing heavily through his nose.

"_Oh, Dave…"_

But Kurt wouldn't. He fucking _wouldn't_, and Dave hates him all the more for it, loves him impossibly more for it, because Kurt is seriously the better guy here, because he is so fucking gorgeous, and so fucking kind, and too fucking good for the likes of him, he was, he _was_, even at his most bitchy and unreasonable and snobbish. So Dave is lost, he really is, because he wishes he could just say that the guy was hot bastard and move the fuck _on_, but Hummel won't let him, _no_, he has to go and be all understanding, and sweet, and _nice_ when Dave expects it the least. Having the fucking sluttiest looking mouth Dave has ever seen isn't enough, having _those_ eyes isn't enough, and that _neck_, and those _wrists_, and those _legs_ and that fucking perfect _ass_, he would look awesome on Dave's bed, and he would pull Dave in and breathe his name in _that_ voice, and Dave would come all over Kurt's creamy skin instead of on the blindingly white tiles of the shower like just now.

Dave stands under the spray with his head still bent and his eyes still closed long after everything washes away. The water turns cold, an all-different bite to his skin, so he sighs and turns it off, sick to his goddamn _soul_ of self-punishment. He is careful not to leave any puddles on the spotless bathroom floor as he towels himself off hastily.

Alex's door is closed, probably locked after this morning wake-up call, so he kicks it lightly on his way to the stairs, smirking at her grumbled "Done!" from behind the wood.

It's still twenty minutes till Kurt arrives, se he just focus on sitting still in his bedroom and not disturbing anything too much.

At eight minutes to three, the eerie tidiness of his room is so annoying that he topples his stapler over the edge of the desk, watching blankly as it drops to the floor with a solid thud. He picks it up again, sighing heavily.

At two to three, his phone rings and Dave thinks _huh, so this is what an heart attack feels like_ and of course it isn't, he must be picking up the drama from Fancy. Who, by the way, isn't the caller, the caller is MOM, and she needs him to check the weather for the weekend for some reason or another, which he does, texting her the full report in hope it might take up the whole two minutes to type it out.

It does, but the doorbell doesn't ring.

He gets up, fully intending to make himself a sandwich, because he swallowed like, two mouthfuls of his dad's roast before feeling decently punished for most of his misdeeds, and the sandwich might take three and a half minutes out of his waiting, so that's good. He stops halfway to the kitchen and retracts, because he can't fucking undress anywhere near a mirror anymore, not since _that day_, so if he's eating something it's either going to be a carrot stick or nothing at all, and Dave fucking _hates_ carrots ever since third grade when Todd Wyler from fifth grade told him they were petrified penises. Which might explain a lot of his issues, but Dave isn't really feeling up to introspection right now.

It's a quarter past three when Kurt texts him a fumbled one-sentence message about Finn and a toilet and a flood and _blubbering idiot_, and Dave is totally going to call Fancy out on using the word 'flood' when '_the water would just rush out'_, and it's not like he gives Dave any slack on shit like this anyway, but then he remembers what _he_ was actually doing instead before he made the story up, and dismisses the thought. And, well, fuck, now he's thinking that _Fancy_ might have made it up as well – Dave is getting a little suspicious of all the Finn related incidents after all – and he's half mad at Kurt for not telling him straight up that no, he has no intention of coming over to Dave's… and half delirious thinking of how exactly Kurt might be using that time, if it is in any way similar to the way Dave used it.

His cock twitches hopefully, but he snarls and presses the heel of his hand hard against his crotch, gritting his teeth. The first time it was relief, the second was foresight, the third left him feeling slightly sick to his stomach and depraved, the fourth time won't happen until Fancy is gone and Dave's balls are _purple_ from all the unintentional flirting he's been reading from Kurt. If he's going to be seeing more of the other boy – seeing _him_ more, that is, not like Dave would fucking mind at all seeing more, and more, and fucking everything _of_ Kurt – he has got to practice self control. And yeah, three times in roughly six hours is a lousy rep, but he is no fucking saint, and he doubts any of those ever had to deal with Kurt Fucking Hummel.

It's half past three when a car pulls into his driveway and Dave spills half of the cereal he had been listlessly pouring into a bowl. He curses when the doorbell rings and he has got yellow dust all over his shirt and jeans; he trashes the whole thing, wincing because they are Alex's favorite and there will be hell to pay for the following week. There's no second ring, so either Kurt up and left, or he's one of the half a dozen decent people in the world who let others get to the fucking door without attempting to burst anyone's eardrums.

Dave opens the door, silently praying for the latter.

Fuck.

Will you just fucking look at him.

He gets an immediate understanding of the phrase "sight for sore eyes", because his eyes might be technically fine, but it's the middle of the afternoon and he's already _exhausted_, okay, and Kurt is just _there_, fresh and bright-eyed and smiling warmly at Dave, and he's standing on Dave's fucking doorway, for God's sake, talk about _surreal_.

"Hi, Dave."

_Hi_.

He manages it in his mind, but it never actually comes out. He gives something close to a grunt instead, and nods, letting Kurt in. The shorter boy watches as he closes the door with fumbling fingers.

"Are you mad at me?"

Dave busies himself with the chain-lock, fiddling with it because his dad has a big-city bred paranoia about security, but his mom leaves it unlocked as often as she can, so. Dilemma here.

"Because if you are, it's completely unfair and you should totally take it out on Finn. I'll stand three feet behind to supply you with energetic drinks and moral support."

He snorts in spite of himself, in spite of this whole fucking thunderstorm he's trying to keep away from Kurt, because he's _here_, he's fucking _here_, in Dave's house, _what is his life_.

"You should just leave him chained in the attic from now on," he finally lets out, absurdly proud at how unshaken his voice sounds.

"One of my many proposals. Apparently it's anti-humanitarian."

"Hum. Go figure. Well, at least you're here now, right?"

Kurt grins, so wide it seems to take over all of his face, and Dave wants to punch his own goddamn eyeballs in, he's not going to make it through the rest of the day, he's going to fuck this up somehow, he can just _feel_ it, how is he going to manage being friends with this guy when all he can think of is –

"Please tell me you're allowed into the rest of the house," Kurt says suddenly, twisting his nose a bit. "Although the hallway is lovely. Your work?," he asks, glancing at three colorful handprints on the otherwise spotless wall with a quirked eyebrow.

_There he is_. The tension in Dave's body floods out so suddenly that he feels weak. He narrows his eyes at Kurt.

"Hey, no hating. It's our best heartwarming family moment." Kurt looks at him expectantly. "See, this one," Dave points at the bright blue handprint, smaller than the other two, "it's Alex's."

Kurt appraises it silently making Dave chuckle and take pity on him

"Someone went and gave her finger paint for her second birthday, and she was really good about it, never painted outside the paper. Then, one day, Em comes early from school and Alex comes running after me to answer the door. She was painting all day, you know, never got tired of that shit. " Dave pauses meaningfully, smirking as Kurt bites his lip, probably sympathizing with younger Dave's parents. "Next thing we know, the wall's got splashes and blotches all over, and it must have been the really cheap kind of paint, 'cause that stuff is supposed to come out easy, right, but it doesn't, and there's Em scrubbing like an OCD person, me splashing water all over it, and Alex crying her eyes out on the floor."

Kurt winces.

"And your parents?"

"My mom went ballistic. Like, they'd just had the house repainted, and everything was real nice, and out of nowhere there's a fucking giant spot on the wall that looks a little like barf cause we scrubbed all sorts of shit over it, you've got no idea." Dave shakes his head and sweeps his finger down the wall slowly, turning away from Kurt. "But my dad just – he takes one look at Alex, right, and he's the worst guy when it comes to tough love, 'cause all we had to do when we were little was squeeze out a tear and he would just take back everything, take us out for ice cream and shit, even."

He looks to the side surprised when Kurt lets out a giggle. He lifts his eyebrows and the other boy rushes to cover his mouth, mortified.

"I – that always worked on my father, too. I only had to rub my eyes hard, make them a little red, and it would be open cookie jar all day. Although, he did caught on eventually."

"Yeah?" says Dave softly, staring wonderingly into Kurt's eyes. He clears his throat when Kurt shoots him a bemused look, and turns back to the three handprints.

"So. My dad. He calms my mom down a bit, takes out the diluent and cleans the whole thing up. But, you know, Alex is still crying, 'cause she just hated getting messy, and then my mom was yelling at everyone, and it's stupid and dumb 'cause she was a just a baby, and babies do shit like that all the time, but she wouldn't stop _crying_ until my dad got it all out."

There's a creak of wood upstairs and Dave looks up. Nothing follows, so he shrugs at Kurt and continues.

"Then, he gets the paint and pours a little in her hand, and she almost starts crying again until Em gets some of it in hers and presses right here, see?" he asks, pointing to the green handprint. "And gets some on my hand and makes me do the same," he goes on, brushing over the red mark. "My mom still looks like she could just pick us up, box us, stamp us, and send us on the next shuttle to the fucking moon, but she takes Alex's hand and," he points to the blue mark.

Kurt crouches to be on eye-level with it, dropping his messenger bag on the floor, and Dave pointedly looks away from the stretch that it causes on the back of his dark jeans.

"Strong stuff, huh? They tossed it all out after, gave Alex a puzzle," he says, overly conscious of Kurt's head just inches from his thigh. "Worst fucking idea ever, if you ask me, she practically eats and breaths that stuff."

Kurt hums in response, and slowly outlines the red handprint with his finger. He's still crouching, his jeans still obscenely tight over his ass, and he's cocking his head wonderingly as if little Dave's mark is the most fascinating thing in the entire goddamn universe, Jesus, it's not cave paintings or Da Vinci, for fuck's sake, and his mouth looks impossibly pink and soft in the shadowy hallway, Kurt's _mouth_, fuck, and it's just inches from his crotch, for real, what is he even _doing_ down there, it's fucking stupid, just kids' stuff, but his _mouth_, God, parted and slack, looks so fucking vulnerable, he can see a flash of tongue coming out to brush his lower lip, fuck, fuck, _fuck_, and Dave has to back away least his hard-on bumps into Kurt's forehead.

There's no way. God, what was he even _thinking_, where did he think they were going with this, this friends stuff, this being within touching distance of each other, this non-date shit, this bringing Kurt home to meet his mom, what the fuck _even_.

Kurt looks up suddenly. Dave clears his throat and takes one unnecessary step back, wiping his sweaty hands on the rough fabric of his jeans.

"It kind of makes me wish I had siblings growing up," says Kurt wistfully, standing up in one graceful motion. Dave manages not to gawk. "Although Finn seems quite determined at compensating me for it."

Why the fuck are they even talking about Hudson. Dave should just go for it now, when Kurt is just _there_, this fucking delightful shade of a smile on his lips, and if Dave gave three steps forward Kurt would have to back one into the wall, or not at all, just stand his ground like a challenge, like this whole thing is just a fucking game for him, and Dave will set him right, he will push him back, press himself all over Kurt, who needs personal space anyway, and he'll just do everything he has dreamed of, he has tons of dreams stored up. Sure, most of them end insanely ridiculous like every dream, with him and Kurt winning an all-you-can-eat cheese buffet for couples, but parts of them are pretty graphic, and pretty hot, and fuck, if Dave had the right connections he would be a porn-industry gazillionaire before graduation.

"Yeah, well, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he says ruefully. He glares at the wood tiles when Kurt steps forward. They're really nice, and they just got the floors done, so it would be a shame not to admire them at all possible times.

"Most things generally aren't," Kurt says softly, too close.

Dave swallows, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as if itching for something, a good fight, maybe. They do that a lot when Kurt's around.

"Like clown parties. And parades." Kurt licks his lips. "And dapper, private school boyfriends."

Dave looks up sharply at that, which, _mistake_. Kurt's eyes are fixed on him, and Dave wonders if he's got some kind of gay hypno skills that Dave hasn't come into yet.

"Yeah?"

Kurt shrugs one shoulder, his lips crooked in a strange smile. His hand reaches up and _Jesus Christ_, he can't believe this, did he even get out of bed this morning, they're this fucking close in his fucking hallway, and Kurt looks like – he looks like he is going to –

"Do you know you've got some sort of yellow dust all over your clothes?" Kurt asks, looking down and brushing lightly at Dave's shirt.

So. Dave has wanted to die before, has considered it very seriously, and now it's seems like the best idea in the world because he _can't_, alright, he just _can't_.

How is this his life, seriously.

"Yeah, I, huh – cereal."

Kurt hmms in response, and just keeps brushing Dave's shoulders, apparently determined to get everything off.

"We should –"

"Did you shower in it? Honestly, David," Kurt mutters, furrowing his brow.

"Whatever."

"And it's such a nice shirt," he says, adjusting the collar slightly.

Right the fuck now would be a good time as any for Dave to keel over and _die_, really, because Kurt's just asking for it, _Christ_, Dave's not made of stone, and he has been so good, he's _so good_.

"It's a good fabric. Your mother's choice?"

"Like I can't pick my own clothes."

"Considering what you bring to school on most days, no. Besides, you went along with Santana's design for the Bullywhips, which makes me think you're easily led." Kurt is fucking _petting_ his shirt, now. "This looks _very _good on you. Red is precisely your color."

Dave is starting to feel a little dizzy. If it were anyone else in front of him now he wouldn't hesitate, but it's _Kurt_, and Kurt _trusts_ him, he said so, and it wouldn't fucking matter if it were anyone else in front of him, would it, because the only person in the world he wants to kiss is Kurt, which brings him back to the starting point, because he _can't_, he fucking _can't_.

"Em."

"What?"

"Em gave me this shirt." He grits his teeth as Kurt's hands fall and he steps away with an approving nod.

"You should let her dress you more often." Kurt smirks at him, picking up his bag. "Now, will you be showing me around, or should I just make myself comfortable right here?"

Funny guy, Fancy. Hilarious guy.

Dave's life, right?

What a fucking riot.

-

"So, huh, kitchen."

Kurt looks around, quirking one eyebrow.

"I hadn't noticed. You have an extremely stealthy kitchen."

_And you're extremely bitchy today, so,_ but he won't say it because he's being a nice guy, because he's being _oh_ so _good_.

"Hey, _you_ wanted me to show you around," says Dave, opening the fridge and peering inside. "No Diet, sorry. You good with regular?"

Kurt wrinkles his nose and Dave waits patiently for the guy to quit adding calories in his head. The irony isn't lost on him, since in this kitchen it definitely isn't Kurt who should be counting calories, but fuck it.

"If I must," he finally says, sighing and brushing imaginary dust off his coat. Dave wants to kill him, slow and _bloody_, because he shouldn't find this quirky and cute, Fancy trying to be an ass, it should rub him in all the wrong ways, and it _doesn't_, and he can't make it seem like it does. He just grabs the regular Coke, pours it into two glasses, slams his own on the counter and hands Fancy his with one of the nice napkins.

They sip it quietly, Kurt staring at him pensively over the brim of the glass. Dave is very consciously trying _not_ to stare back, so he focuses on Kurt's coat, which is an interesting shade of green that probably has a totally different name, but to Dave it just looks green. And _way_ to warm for this kind of weather.

"Aren't you hot?" and he regrets it immediately when Kurt's eyebrows shoot up.

"I mean – it's hot today. And the coat," he waves at Kurt's middle, "looks kinda hot, too."

"Sacrifices must me made, David," Kurt says mildly.

"What, in the name of fashion?"

"Not today."

Dave snorts and leans against the counter, trying to be covert about the way his eyes stray to the front of Kurt's jeans.

"It may be hard for you to _grasp_ this, David –"

Was he fucking _serious_?

" – but I _am _more than my clothes."

"When did I ever –"

"Maybe you haven't realized it yet, but I am a whole person, not some two cent caricature."

Kurt is glaring at him, and Dave had never gotten the concept of 'flashing eyes' before, but fuck him if he hasn't _now_.

"Tangent, Fancy."

"Hmpf."

It catches him by surprise – this is Kurt backing down. He's pissy today, over whatever's been eating him up lately, and he wants to take it out on _someone_, but Dave has been assured many times by Kurt Hummel himself that they are, in fact, _friends_, and it might piss him off royally, but shit, they _are_. And he can take Kurt down a peg if he wants to, without Kurt storming off and never speaking to him again, and Kurt can say anything he damn well pleases to his face without ever being afraid again. It feels nice for a second – then it feels fucking frustrating, because he lives in fear of being permanently friend-zoned by Fancy, and that would majorly _suck_.

But, hey, at least he gets to ogle the guy while doing it.

As far as minor epiphanies go, this one isn't half-bad.

-

"And who's this?" Kurt whispered to Dave, startled.

They hadn't been facing the door, and suddenly there was a young girl with wavy brown hair standing by one of the cupboards. Her nose was stuck in a large book and she didn't seem to have taken notice of the two boys staring at her. She reached out blindly to take an apple, biting into it without ever acknowledging any of them and started walking back to the door.

"And that's _Alex_," Dave said, shaking his head.

"Oh."

The girl shrieked, dropping both book and apple. She turned to them unplucking the earplugs that had till them remained hidden by her hair, her eyes wide with fright. She dismissed Dave with an annoyed glance but took Kurt in curiously.

"You're not a girl," she said, almost accusingly.

"And your eyesight is much better than that of half the student body at my school," tried Kurt, smiling nervously.

She picked up the book and the apple and placed them on the counter, never looking away from him. He looked at Dave for answers, but the other boy was still watching his sister cautiously.

"Alex?"

"I _thought_ you were a girl," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"So does the aforementioned half of the student body, apparently. They keep directing me to the girls' bathroom," said Kurt with a suffering sigh. Dave blushed and looked down.

"You're not," she insisted.

"Alex –"

"Does _Em_ know?" she hissed at Dave. "I bet she does. I bet you called her right away."

Kurt frowned as Dave took one step back, looking uncomfortable.

"Would _you_ tell your sister?" she questioned, turning to Kurt, but not even giving him time to answer before continuing. "I mean, if you had spent the whole morning running back and forth with a vacuum cleaner, and stomping around the house with your big feet, and doing laundry when she sleeps right next to the laundry room. When she was feeling like sleeping in, _for once_. Would you have told her?"

"_Alex_."

"No, _you_," she snarled, turning to Dave, "would have told her to shut her face and take her shoes off, 'cause she's leaving marks on the tiles. _You_ would have thrown the vacuum into her room at _eight in the morning_ and _ordered_ her to get her lazy ass of the bed and make herself useful."

"What, you can't clean your own room now and –"

"I clean my room everyday! I dust my books every week! And I always do the dishes, and I always feed Willy, and my ass is _never_ lazy!"

"Yeah right, what about that time when mom and dad –"

"Like you have a leg to stand on, you had sentient mold under your closet –"

"Well, if you'd clean off your own hair off the goddamn drain, I dunno, _every time _you shower –"

"And if you think I like wiping off shaving cream from the sink –"

"_Please_, that science experiment you kept in the freezer and just _forgot_ there –"

"And your gym bag, _God_, what do they make you do at school, douse in rotten eggs –"

Kurt couldn't help it. It had started with small sniggers and soon turned into a fit of giggles so aggressive he had to double over, clutching his stomach.

David had one palm planted on the wooden table and the other fisting at his side, his jaw clenched tightly. His face had become a little blotchy and once in a while he would actually _stomp his foot_ in order to make a point. His sister had her hands on her hips and her nose so high in the hair that she was almost tipping back. And she looked miniscule, dwarfed by Dave's large frame, but her back was ramrod straight as she challenged her brother.

She glanced away from Dave when she heard Kurt, and her posture relaxed slightly. She arched her eyebrows.

"Tell me, wouldn't you tell the sister who had to have breakfast every morning with an hairy asshole instead of her usually somewhat-tolerable brother for over a year?"

"Tell what, exactly?"

Alexis stared at him despairingly.

"You're not a girl! And everyone's been walking on eggshells around the house for these last few days, and he was _cleaning_, and you are. _Not._ A girl!"

Dave cleared his throat and made a move forward, but she skipped back.

"Would you tell the sister you remember to call once in a blue moon? Yes, you would, because _that's_ the important sister, the cool big sister, because Alexis is just a kid, and Alexis is gonna throw a tantrum if her brother as much as hints that he's gay!"

"_Fuck_, Alex, shut up!" David's knuckles met the table _hard_, making Kurt wince. Whether for the table or Dave's hand he didn't know. "Maybe it's none of your business, ever thought of that?"

Alexis shook her head at him in annoyance.

"It became _my_ business when you shoved a bucket and a mop in my room and told me to get moving if I ever wanted a ride this summer!"

"Forget it, you can _walk_."

"Argh!" She threw her hands up and turned to face Kurt. "You know," she said, looking him up and down, "I'll bet you my two years savings that you could get a dozen guys worth a dozen of _him_," she waved at her brother," in the flash of an eye, I'm sure you could. Did he brainwash you?"

Kurt was still having trouble keeping himself in check, but managed to sober up at the sight of her tiny earnest face and Dave's thunderous expression.

"We're not –"

"He can pull of a _beret_ like nobody's business," cut Kurt, shrugging. "And also happens to look pretty good in formal wear," he added with a sly smile, watching out of the corner of his eye as David spluttered and closed his mouth, his face a violent shade of red.

Alexis eyed him warily for a moment, and then her eyes sharpened.

"You're – you're that _boy_, aren't you? Hummel? The one that almost got him expelled? Not that I blame you," she added hurriedly.

Kurt smiled and held out his hand.

"Call me Kurt, please."

"Alexis," she offered taking his hand with a serious expression.

Letting go, she picked up the apple again, giving it a pretty ferocious bite. Kurt cringed.

"Isn't – shouldn't you be washing that?"

She smirked around the fruit and pointed at Dave.

"He washed the floor three times today. Once he even used bleach. I think I'm good," she said airily, grabbing her book and walking to the door. With one last look at Kurt, she added, "You know, if you dump him, I'm never breaking your legs or anything. I will totally understand."

"Shit, Alex, we're not _together_!" Dave positively bellowed, making Kurt flinch and cover his ears.

"Oh. Sucks to be you, then, Davey," she quipped, snickering as she ducked out of sight.

The two boys stood in silent for a while until Dave turned to Kurt with a painfully blank expression.

"So, living-room?"

"She is… something, David."

Dave sighed in annoyance, spreading out his hands slightly.

"See? Not all it's cracked out to be. You think you've got it bad with Finn?" He grabbed their glasses and placed them in the sink, very deliberately turning away from Kurt. "At least he doesn't have ovaries."

"Actually, I think she cares a lot about you. You should have told her."

The taller boy braced his hands on the counter, staring down at the water faucet.

"You got that from all the warm praise and general loving behavior, huh?"

"She was checking me out," Kurt said with a fond smile at Dave's back.

"She's twelve, Fancy, get a hold of you ego."

"Not like that, _obviously_. She wanted to make sure I was good enough for her brother." Kurt tilted his head, weighting his words. "I'm pleased to know I've met her standards."

"Standards?" asked Dave quietly, finally turning around.

It had been so much easier talking to Dave's back. Dave's back was not nearly as intimidating as Dave's eyes.

"S-so, living-room?" Kurt pleaded, disgusted at his stutter.

"Kurt –"

"What?" His voice sounded much too anxious.

"Nothing."

"_David_."

"Living-room," Dave said determinedly, walking past Kurt and out the door.

"_Living-room_," muttered Kurt under his breath, disgusted at his own cowardice.

-

**Author's Note 2.0:**Total Author Appeal on the two authors mentioned here. And YAY for cockblocking cereal, am I right?


	13. He's A Pain In The Ass

**Author's Notes: **Writing descriptions from Kurt's POV is _fun_, guys. And, you know, I kind of really like math. And, hum, Dave's mom! *rambles on, nervously* I'm sososo sorry.

Have.. a nice read?

I'm probably making it worse than it is.

-

Dave's bedroom was... _not_ what Kurt had been expecting.

It was very _tidy_. And yes, if what Alexis had said was to be taken at face value, it was much tidier than usual, but still. Unlike most boy's bedrooms that he had ever been in – read: Finn's – it honestly didn't look like he might get crushed under an avalanche of dirty laundry if he as much as dared peek inside Dave's closet.

Ha.

Kurt allowed himself a swift mental golf clap at that and proceeded to look around. It was a ground-level room, which was also unexpected, in a way. Having lived underground for years himself, Kurt still found his new bedroom far too accessible sometimes, so he didn't think he could get used to sleeping like this.

Of course, if he _were_ to sleep here, David would most likely be sleeping with him – which must sweeten the deal quite a bit.

He nearly chided himself for the route his mind was taking, but to what point? He was very obviously attracted to David, even if the other boy simply refused to do anything about it, and if he wanted to contemplate which one would be the big spoon he would, damn it. David Karofsky was male, gay, and had, at some point in the past, expressed a very clear interest in seeing Kurt naked, even if he had been seeming insufferably amnesiac about it for some time now.

Dave gestured wordlessly to the swivel chair in front of the desk and settled himself on the bed, a sturdy queen-size one with a dark blue coverlet. The walls were done in a creamy ecru color, the dark but soft reds and blues of the room and the solid-looking wooden furniture giving it a homey feeling. Kurt could appreciate it, even if the contents were a little _too_ mismatched for his taste, and the posters hanging by the bed depicted bands he had never even heard of.

"You know the first thing I did after my parents found out?" Dave asked suddenly.

Kurt shook his head, sitting down on the offered chair. It sank a little under his weight, which made him suck in his stomach for a panicked moment, but it looked well worn and already past its best years, so it was probably not entirely his fault.

"Take down my three-set of Pamela Anderson posters," said Dave gleefully, leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head. "I know, I know. Classic over-compensation, right?"

Kurt licked his lips, watching the muscles of Dave's upper arms strain against the fabric of his shirtsleeves.

"A defining moment in your life, I'm sure."

"Meh, thought it would be a lot more liberating," he said, shrugging his shoulders once. "She kinda grew on me over the years, I guess."

"Her or her breasts?"

"Totally a breast man, Fancy, you got me there, don't know how I'm gonna survive this being gay thing, it _sucks_." Dave grinned at him and winked, making Kurt bless his luck for having sat down in time. "But seriously, I kinda miss it now. Looks a little empty." He looked around at the walls, sighing in mock drama.

"Don't worry, I'll order a brand new framed set and give it to you as a birthday present." Kurt paused, running his fingers over the dented wood of the edge of the desk. "Which will be on the…?"

"Aww, Fancy. Aren't you sweet."

"_On the…_?"

Dave smirked and let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes. Kurt looked away, feeling his heart pick up significantly.

"You're not gonna, like, slushy me on the day, are you?" the other boy asked, his eyes still closed.

"I can safely say I would never use slushying as revenge on any human being." Kurt frowned. "Or on any being, period."

Dave squinted at him.

"Not even on me?"

"Not even on you."

"Hum."

Kurt rolled his eyes and opened his bag, determined to get at least_ homework_ out of this back and forth afternoon.

_As if anyone could concentrate under this insane amount of stress._

He pursed his lips and breathed in deeply.

"_Especially_ not on you." There, he had said something. Now Dave could pick up where Kurt left and make his move or he could just –

"Huh. So, 'bout your math homework?"

Do that.

"Kurt?"

David Karofsky was _not_ worth it. This was a suffering of the most acute kind, and Kurt was _exhausted_. He has been waking up exhausted, going to bed exhausted, living his days by halves, counting the minutes between Dave's calls.

The jock didn't deserve anything from Kurt, especially not after _this_.

His phone beeped. He glanced at Dave, who had just turned his head to face him, and took it out of his pocket.

_Courage_.

No.

_No._

Seriously?

What was _wrong_ with Blaine, really, was his tie on too tight, had the industrial hair gel fumes at last succeed in slaughtering _all_ of his brain cells, _what_, what was_ this_, what was he even _thinking_, or else, did Blaine ever even think about things?

He looked down again.

_Courage_.

It wasn't fitting. Blaine obviously thought it was; Blaine was probably in his room, patting himself on the back and thinking that he was _oh so smart_, but he _wasn't_. And if Kurt wasn't actually quite stupidly happy to be sitting on Dave's chair right now, to be brushing his fingers over the same dents that Dave had probably carved himself, to be feasting his starving eyes on the guy that had been the most prominent – if not the sole – participant in most of this summer's wet dreams, then Kurt would be getting in his car, driving all the way to Westerville and very physically knocking some sense into the Warbler's well-shaped but still incredibly thick skull.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Dave, sitting up again.

Kurt shook his head, unbelievably out of words. Blaine was _so_ on his list, he was _so_ screwed with Kurt, he was –

Right.

Blaine was right.

Blaine was right, and Kurt was wrong, and _fuck_, he could not believe his life, but Blaine was right about this, even if he hadn't been the first time around. If Kurt had ever needed to grow a backbone, right _now_ was the time.

"Hum, of course. It's just – text from Blaine," and he almost dropped to the floor in rightful agony, because this was the _worst_ possible thing that he could say. 'Look, Godzilla is eating your flowerpots' would have been better; 'I'm giving you a 70s Cher makeover' _would have been better_ – anything would have been better as long as it wasn't _this_.

Kurt had always thought of himself as reasonably above the average on the intelligence scale – the way Dave was drawing into himself right now, fiddling with blank sheets of paper and every random item he could get a hold of, proved him wrong, it blatantly screamed _stupid_ at Kurt.

He started. Of course David liked him. Of course he had feelings for Kurt, right, it was obvious, it was all _there_, why had he ever doubted it in the first place; he knew Blaine's general attitude could rub a lot of people in the wrong way but that was no reason for what Dave was doing – sulking and pretending like he had nothing to sulk over at the same time. He was amazing at it, which obviously meant that he was just plain _awful_, and Kurt was having serious difficulties in containing the feelings bubbling just under his skin.

"So," he started, with no idea of how he would finish, "do you mind if I put on some music, or is it harder for you to concentrate with noise?"

Kurt cringed inwardly. _Of course_. He _had _to start planning this conversion of thought into spoken word. He couldn't back out now; he had to actually go through with it.

Dave gave him a morose one-shoulder shrug; Kurt had to smile, he really had to, and that was actually the second sign of him being in way too deep for the guy.

The first sign was that he was actually going to go through with _it_.

He fished out his iPod and began to run through his setlists with trembling fingers. He found _it_ too fast, and went back to the beginning, trying to give himself time to shake off the feeling of impending doom.

_It_ started to play softly through the portable speakers, so he leant back on the chair and began to go through his homework with painfully feigned tranquility, biting his lip as Dave did the same, apparently unaffected by Kurt's choice of soundtrack. He had messed around with the track a little, lowering the volume of the vocals enough so his own could stand out – but he was regretting it now. It would probably seem contrived, and Kurt had only wanted it to feel natural, right. _Flowing_.

He was ready, immensely proud at how his voice never shook.

"_Kiss me…_"

He almost dropped the whole act when Dave's head shot up. However, he wasn't doing anything, he _never_ did anything, he was just staring at Kurt, his eyebrows scrunching together.

"_Nightly…"_

Dave's head dropped down again. He started feverishly scribbling on his notebook, making Kurt clench his jaw and almost miss the following note.

"_Swing, swing…_"

Dave kept writing.

"_You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that kilt…"_

Well that had certainly gotten his attention.

"_Oh… kiss me…"_

Then he was looking down yet again – but the tip of his pen was frozen on the top of the page.

"_Lead me… out on the moonlit floor…"_

Kurt missed the next line as if by accident, as if he hadn't orchestrated the whole thing, as if he didn't know the pauses he wanted by _heart_.

"_Silver moon's sparkling…"_

Dave's hand shook around the pen.

"_So kiss me."_

Kurt hummed along to the next lines, taking the time to read out a particularly intricate math problem, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. He cursed himself quite creatively when he started hearing the scrap of pen on paper again.

"_Oh, kiss me… beneath the milky twilight…"_

David had apparently hit a bout of inspiration. Kurt had never seen anyone more enthused by English Puritanism.

"_Lift your open hand…"_

Maybe he should actually be paying attention to his own homework, instead of wasting a _fucking_ serenade on an absolute _jerk_.

"_So kiss me."_

There was a bothersome prickling at the corner of his eyes; Kurt bit the inside of his cheek. David would certainly get an A+ on his paper.

"_K-Kiss me…"_

He could not do this.

_Courage_.

He could do this.

"_And make the fireflies dance…"_

Dave couldn't care less.

It was so obvious.

His eyes were positively burning now.

"_So kiss me…"_

It _hurt _to hear himself, ached in a very distinct, utterly humiliating way. It sounded so much like begging.

"_So kiss me…"_

Kurt lowered his head over the desk, trying to make out the blurry words. He could still hear the frantic scraping.

"_So kiss me…"_

He had expected to be toppled off the chair onto the ground and properly ravished. That is, after _that_ _song_, if there was but a scope of feeling for Kurt left inside Dave, things could never go any other way, could they?

_Wrong_.

Wrong Kurt was _wrong_.

Because Dave was still staring intently at the probably Nobel-worthy essay in front of him, his brow furrowed, his hand in a firm grip around his pen.

Kurt curbed the urge to just bang his head on the desk repeatedly. David Karofsky _so_ wasn't worth it. Kurt had never made his feelings more clear, what possible room for misinterpretation was there? It had been just as mortifyingly obvious as _I Honestly Love You,_ and even _Finn_ had gotten that point across.

But _Dave_.

There _had_ to be something wrong with him. They were both guys, and both gay and both possessors of hyperactive teenage hormones and both _alive_, for Liza's sake. Even if he felt no more for Kurt than lukewarm friendship – Kurt's eyes prickled again when his heart tugged violently – he was still _human_, wasn't he? Kurt had practically presented himself to him, _what was wrong with the guy_.

He rolled his eyes as the song came on repeat and turned it off.

Of course Dave would look up at _that_.

"No more music?"

"I can't concentrate," retorted Kurt, glaring down at his own notebook.

Dave shook his head, laughing softly. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, throwing both notes and pen aside.

"Gimme," he said, still amused, leaning forward and waving at Kurt's homework.

Kurt narrowed his eyes, turning the chair away from the bed, his mouth scrunched in a petulant pout.

Suddenly he noticed a lone book next to David's laptop. He made a move for it; Dave got up immediately, but Kurt was faster.

"Oh, _oh_. Getting ahead on your reading, were you?" he teased, sweeping his finger over the creased binding.

Dave shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"It's Em's. She let me borrow it." He made a face as Kurt examined one of the many dog-eared pages eagerly. "I didn't even start reading it yet, those are all hers."

Kurt sighed, closing the paperback and tapping the cover wistfully. "She just might be my true soulmate, David. What are her thoughts on this season's must-haves?"

Dave snorted, snatching Kurt's notebook and examining the haphazard calculations. "You're not getting anywhere with her, Fancy. She never pays attention to brand-stuff."

Kurt gave a small disappointed hum.

"And she's a _girl_. You know, with _girl-parts_." Dave grimaced. "Ugh, forget I ever mentioned my sister's girl-parts, Jesus."

Kurt grinned up at him, quirking one eyebrow. Dave ducked his head, brow furrowing as he perused Kurt's results.

"I think you're mixing up formulas here. This is all messed up."

"_Math_ is messed up. It's a wonder anyone can like it." He glared snidely at Dave's bent head.

"Stuff works out, I guess." Dave shrugged again, and leaned against his desk, picking up a pencil. "Like, you get this huge-ass equation, right? But you know that, if you just look at it right and follow the rules, it's gonna come down to this really simple thing. And it's _always_ like that. You don't need fancy words, or talking out of your ass, 'cause you're either wrong or right about it, no going half-way."

Kurt stared at him, his mouth gaping open slightly.

"You like the _simplicity_ of it? I mean, the simplicity _you_ see in it, because all I see is half-mad ranting by numbers."

"What's there not to like?"

"But… things should be complex, and subtle, and multi-faceted, and _layered_. You can't have simplicity in life and have it be _complete_."

"Who's talking about life? 'M talking about homework here, Fancy."

Kurt sighed loudly, uncrossing his legs and crossing them again.

"It's just so _mechanical_."

Dave stared at him.

"Why d'you always do that?"

"What?," snapped Kurt, pursing his lips.

"Go off like _that_. Not everything has a deeper meaning, you know? I like Math. It's simple. I'm a simple guy."

"David Karofsky, you're anything _but_." Kurt smiled slightly, looking down at the book still in his hands. He could feel Dave's eyes bore into the back of his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Not everything has a deeper meaning, Dave," he echoed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling at Dave's exasperated groan.

"_Fine_. Here, this is where you went wrong, see?" Dave's lips twitched when Kurt scowled at the page. "You _can_ be creative, but this is way over the top. You can't just – there are _rules_."

"Have you met _me_?"

Dave gave him a shy, fond look, and Kurt almost jumped him right there and then, because, well. Crushing on David was about as predictable as white water rafting, and he was so _desperate_ for this guy.

Pathetic.

But Dave was going on about variables and systems again, and if he didn't look endearingly earnest when trying to be helpful, Kurt would kick him so hard he would see variables all right, he would be seeing variables all night long.

He clutched the collar of his coat self-consciously, wavering between taking it off now and hoping for Dave to get his mind in the game, or saving it for later, when they have no more homework to hide behind. He glanced at the papers strewn across Dave's bed wonderingly.

"Do you still need help with your essay?"

Dave paused mid-sentence and followed Kurt's gaze, his eyes widening.

"Huh. No, I think I – I think I got it, thanks."

Kurt tilted his head curiously when Dave started gathering his notes hastily, dropping them into a drawer in his bedside table.

"Well, if you're sure –"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine," Dave assured him, scratching the back of his own neck and looking away.

Kurt stared at him a little dumbfounded, but decided to wave it off for once.

"So. What exactly about my calculations is so astoundingly mind-boggling?"

-

Dave swears under his breath when the doorbell rings. He knows instantly that he shouldn't have locked it, but his mom has only rang once, which means she's either in a really good mood or just remembered that Dave has a guest. He's betting for the latter, knowing the first is damn near impossible when she gets the day shift on a weekday.

His spine cracks when he gets up from the chair he snagged from Alex's room. Tutoring Fancy, as unexpected as it was, is kind of absorbing, and he hadn't noticed the weird curve his spine has been making for the last hour and a half. Kurt glances at him questioningly, so Dave grunts 'mom' while rolling his neck painfully. He notices bleakly that his knee his still tingling from when he bumped it into Kurt's, _honestly_ by accident. He had immediately backed off with a muttered 'sorry', not wanting to give Fancy time to flinch away. He hasn't been able to meet the other boy's eyes until now.

"Shouldn't you –"

"Alex likes getting the door."

Kurt snorts.

"That's what Finn always says about me whenever he doesn't feel like getting his lazy ass off the couch."

Dave winks at him and pushes at the back of the chair, effectively swaying Kurt. He shrieks and bats Dave's hand away, hiding a smile.

Cocking his head to the side, Dave listens to his mom's quiet chattering with his sister. He starts counting under his breath.

"Three… two… one and a half… one –"

"Dave?" comes from the hallway instantly.

He rolls his eyes at Kurt and jerks his head to the door.

"Wanna meet my mom? 'S what you've been waiting for all day, isn't it?"

Kurt's eyes widen in fright.

"Oh god, David, I can't, what if she hates me, she'll hate me, all she's gonna see is some noisy kid who almost got her son expelled, Dave, I can't –"

Dave laughs and grabs Kurt upper arm, puling him up gently. His hand lingers, his thumb just brushing the underside of Kurt's arm.

"She _won't_."

Kurt gulps, still looking at him anxiously.

"No one could ever hate you, Fancy."

"N-no one?"

Dave lets go of his arm regretfully and sighs, curbing the urge to just wrap his arms around that tiny waist and pull Fancy to him, into him, _all over_ him, reassuring Kurt in a much more physical way than he will ever be allowed to.

"Not a fucking soul. You're _not_ some noisy kid and my mom is not a moron." He smiles teasingly and has to press his nails hard into his palm to vanish the picture of his hand cupped around Kurt's cheek. "The first thing that'll come out of her mouth after you go home will be '_David_, why can't you be more like your friend Kurt?'"

Kurt chuckles and nods, turning his nose up. High bitch mode _on_, Dave guesses, and can't help but wonder at where the fuck did his sanity go, seriously, why doesn't this piss him off, why doesn't he feel like punching this guy's face in, why is it that the only thing he can actually picture himself doing to Kurt right now is kissing the fucking living lights out of him, leaving him breathless and panting for _more, _and _God, _and _Dave_ – and _shitshitshit_, there he goes again. Sure, he's a teenager, and this is supposed to be normal, but _goddamn it_, he can never catch a fucking break, can he? This is the worst friendship he has ever had, just the _worst_, never mind that it's also really fucking brilliant.

He snatches his hand away at the last minute when Kurt walks around him to the door. It had been straying to the other boy's back; where the hell does all this touchy-feely new vibe comes from, hum, he knows he's a physical kind of guy but _come on_, you can't just go around touching other people whenever you feel like it – and _great_, now Fancy is looking at him over his shoulder and doing that freakish thing where his eyebrow detaches from his brow and doesn't give a fuck about the laws of physics. Dave gives him a blank look and Kurt shakes his head, perpetually unimpressed.

One day.

One day, he is going to grow a spine and a fucking pair, and he's going to impress Kurt all right, he'll impress all over his shit.

-

The kitchen was a mess of half-empty plastic grocery bags, with David's mom and Alexis right in the middle of it, talking a mile a minute. Kurt gave a small step back, his shoulders tense. He had thought he could do this, thought it would be effortless like Dave was effortless even when he was being unbelievably dense. And even if it wasn't, he knew how to deal with parents.

But Dave's mom looked nothing like the meek, somewhat submissive suburban housewife he had secretly been expecting. He should have known; nurses were, generally speaking, a tough folk. She was barely shorter than him, slender in a way that managed not to appear frail; he could see a bit of Dave in her face, but only vaguely. That was Alexis's hair in a darker shade, and that was slightly up-turned nose that neither son nor daughter had inherited; overall, he could count two, maybe three features in common with David, but –

She suddenly grinned at her daughter's wisecracking and Kurt was positively floored.

So _that_ was where it had come from. This was the woman to blame for his jelly knees, but damn him if he wasn't a little fond of her already.

And of course Dave chose that moment to let his hand fall to the small of Kurt's back and push him forward.

"I wish you would try to be a little more helpful, David, Alexis and I can only carry so much – oh, hello!" Dave rolled his eyes at his mother's wide grin.

Kurt's answering smile was unsure, but Lisa Karofsky was a woman with a mission.

"Kurt, is it? Sorry for all the mess," she said, waving at the route of obstacles that had taken over the kitchen floor. "This family will one day eat me out of house and home, I swear."

"_Mom_."

"Oh, shush, David. Here, make yourself useful, will you?" she asked, handing him three heavy looking bags. Kurt moved to help him but Lisa shook her head.

"Oh no, honey, _don't_, it's his job."

"Slave-labor," muttered Dave without much heat.

"You do get an allowance," she quipped, unbuttoning her coat.

"How was work?"

There was a perceptible pause in her shuffling through the crisp plastic bags. She blinked twice, her forehead creasing slightly. She looked for all the world as if she would never have expected the question, the underlying _care_ in Dave's tone.

"Ugh, _work_. It's a black hole of death and despair where dreams go to die." She sighed dramatically, waving a garlic string for emphasis; her eyes had warmed considerably as she looked between Kurt and Dave.

"You work with babies, mom," stated Alex, snagging the string and putting it away.

"Oh _no_, the babies are fine, the babies are _wonderful_. Howling babies 24/7 is heaven next to old people constantly whining about medication." She made a face, reaching back to pull her dark hair into a sleek ponytail. "Good God, Kurt, you must thing I'm this vicious, awful person, but really, I'll have enough on my hands with my own decay whenever I get there."

Dave snorted, elbowing his sister's back to move her out of the way. She glared at him and then glanced at Kurt, who was still staring wide-eyed at all the commotion. He cursed and grabbed her shoulder threateningly, holding one finger up to his lips. Alexis blinked at him, all innocence and guilelessness.

"Be _good_," he hissed.

"Or what?" she whispered back.

"Your _laptop_."

"_Your_ mp3 player."

"_All_ your books."

"Your porn stash."

Dave gaped at her.

"What? I'm twelve, not a nitwit."

She shrugged off his hand and sat down at the table, smiling pleasantly whenever she caught Kurt's eye. Dave shot her a dirty look.

"Besides, knowing my children, they'll sooner ship me off to a rest home than actually find it in their gentle, egocentric little hearts to take care of me," their mother ranted on, oblivious.

Kurt's smile had finally grown genuine, and he had go as far as leaning his back against the counter. He gave Dave a sly look, nibbling his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I'm sure Dave would –"

"Olivia says the male nurses at Eternal Sunshine are _way_ foxy," cut Alexis drily.

"I'll be ashes and dust before I go willingly to somewhere named Eternal Sunshine, thank you, honey." She paused, tapping her chin. "Olivia said that? Hum." She looked at Dave fixedly. "Last year. Didn't you boys have a social project at school dealing with volunteering with the elderly? Eternal Sunshine was involved, I think."

Kurt started nodding eagerly as Dave gave a noncommittal grunt, making Alex snort.

"Mom, boys don't appreciate _male_ nurses. It's _gay_," she deadpanned, hoping out of her chair and running out the door in a flash before Dave could get a hold of her.

His mother fingered one strand of hair nervously behind her ear.

"You –"

Dave shrugged and motioned Kurt to one of the chairs.

"Well, I can't say I'm not relieved. I don't much like having secrets in my house. Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "Never mind that. You're going to _love_ this, Dave. I went by the cafeteria today and guess who's delivering again?"

"The Pie Lady? Seriously?" Kurt laughed in astonishment at Dave's eager expression.

"_The Pie Lady_. And _guess_ who just talked Mrs. Erickson into selling them a whole pecan pie?" She grinned, grabbing a white box from behind her.

"You're jokin'. She gave you the whole thing?"

"_Sold _it, and for almost double the price they get it there. Oh, well."

"Come _on_, it's so worth it."

"That it is. Kurt, sweetie, you have to try it. If you can safely say you've ever had anything more delicious I'll –"

"Seriously, you got to, it's like, I don't even know _what_ –"

"One or two of the ingredients _have_ to be illegal, I _swear_ –"

"She's probably a drug dealer on the side, but who cares, this is the best thing –"

Kurt laughed and nodded, finally taking the plate he was being offered.

"Okay, but if I can't fit in at least five of my jeans tomorrow, you're paying for a new gym-membership, Dave," he retorted, before taking his first bite. The pleasured whimper that followed made him blush and swallow the half-chewed mouthful immediately.

"_See_?" Dave smirked at him. "Eat up."

"Exactly. I know it's sinfully caloric, but you look entirely too skinny for your own good." Lisa clasped her hands over her mouth, horrified. "Oh my God, you don't have some kind of eating disorder, do you? Oh dear, I _always_ do this. Just last week I gave this twenty-something girl in the psych ward _double_ servings because she looked _starved_. As it turns out, she was a relapsing anorexic, and someone had misplaced her chart. I'll tell you, if looks could kill, she'd have had me buried and mourned on the spot." She shook her head theatrically. "See, that's what it does to you, working almost exclusively with the basic needs folk. You lose all of your insightfulness into the adult mind. Social survival skills, too."

Dave gave a tight smile, serving knife wavering over the dessert.

"No, no eating disorder, " replied Kurt, still chuckling. "I just get a little paranoid from time to time, thinking I'll have to get back to an all-week sweatpants regime."

"Sweatpants?," asked Dave, pushing away his empty plate. He ignored his mother sharp look determinately.

"Middle-school. I was about a quarter shorter and almost twice as large," said Kurt, cringing. "When I started to really invest in dancing it went away, but I don't look forward to having it all back."

"I don't remember you back then," said Dave, frowning.

"Well, I did my best to be inconspicuous."

"_Really_?"

Kurt rolled his eyes at Dave's teasing smirk.

"As far-fetched as it seems to you, _yes_. I didn't happen to be born this self-assured and outspoken."

"So you weren't always this much of a –"

"O-kay, boys." Lisa dropped one gentle hand to the back of her son's neck. "I thought you had school work to do?"

"Dave is helping me with math," said Kurt, glaring sideways at the taller boy. "In exchange, I'm supposed to guide him through U.S. history."

"Didn't you do that one already?" Lisa asked Dave, puzzled.

"Was kinda hoping it would go away on its own," said Dave vaguely, keeping his face blank.

"But… your father asked if you needed that book he took to the office that other day, and you said you had already done it –"

"_Leave it_, mom, jeez." Dave clenched his jaw. Kurt tilted his head, appraising him curiously.

"Have it your way, then. I'm in desperate need of burning-hot water and slippers right now, but don't go away without saying goodbye, Kurt, will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Kurt kept smiling as he got up to put his plate in the sink, ignoring her protests. Lisa looked down at her son and then skyward, giving a despairing sigh.

"I totally lifted the table last night, mom."

"If only you could make it an everyday random act of kindness."

Liza stretched her arms tiredly, leaving the kitchen with one last warm smile for Kurt.

They stood in silence for a while. Kurt looked down, searching his jacket for sticky crumbles.

"So."

"She's _so_ pretty, Dave."

"You know, if you were anyone else, you'd totally _not_ get away with that." Dave shrugged. "Meh, she's my mom. I guess Em and Alex take more after her than I do."

Kurt abstained from commenting on that.

"And _nice_."

"Yeah, I told her you liked nice people."

"So this was all for my sake?"

"Totally. Any other day she would have taken out the new set of steak knives as soon as she saw you wearing shoes inside the house."

"_What?_ You didn't tell –" Kurt's eyes narrowed. "You. _You_."

Dave threw his head back, laughing. Kurt did _not _find it attractive. Not at all.

Like, never.

"_You_ wear shoes inside the house, you – you awful, pathetic excuse for a human being."

"Just yankin' your chain, Fancy, that's all." He cracked his knuckles. "Second round? We had almost gotten arithmetic basics. Or d'you just wanna keep stuffin' your face?"

"I'll show you arithmetic basics, you –" Kurt halted when Dave's fingers brushed his shoulder. "What –," he swallowed thickly, " – what are you doing?"

"You missed a spot," said the taller boy, biting his lip defensively. "There."

_Not there_, Kurt wanted to scream, _higher, center_, _you incredibly dense_ –

"You coming?"

_Oh, that was deliberate._

Then again – and all things considered – probably not.

Kurt sighed.

"Coming."

If only.

_Bad Kurt!_

-

"Mom! Dave's door is closed! And he's got a _boy_ with him!"

"Alexis, leave your brother alone!"

Dave stared at the door incredulously.

"But, _mom_!"

"Go clean your room!"

Kurt stopped trying to hold it in at that and collapsed in a fit of giggles, senseless to the paper bullets Dave kept aiming his way.

-

"Why would you do that?"

Dave's pencil halted to a stop.

"I told you, you have to cross-multiply when –"

Kurt rolled his eyes and held up the book he had been idly flickering through while pretending to pay attention to Dave's demonstrations. He _had_ tried, but this was exactly why one should always get unattractive tutors. He had never seen the real point of math – now it was even harder, with Dave reciting formulas in a soft, low voice. So he settled for recollecting his thoughts on Oscar Wilde, figuring it was only fair.

David gulped visibly and opened his mouth, only to close it again when Kurt narrowed his eyes.

There were passages underlined neatly, notes scrawled on the margins, and Kurt had _seen_ Dave's handwriting before. Either their genetic pool was incredibly specific, or this was Dave's sister's book _his ass_.

"Those –"

"Don't _even_, Dave."

"Whatever."

"God, why do you do that?" Kurt slumped back, thoroughly exasperated.

"Wha –"

"Fake dumb! 'Math is simple', 'I'm a simple guy', 'Oscar _who_?'" Dave smiled weakly at Kurt's gruff tone. Kurt glared at him.

"You _read_." He pointed at the bookcase by the other end of the bed for emphasis.

"Maybe they're just gifts. Maybe I never even opened them."

Kurt snarled and got up in a flash, striding across the room and picking out a book at random.

"And I guess _everyone_ you know gives you books. Second-hand books, at that." He waved the worn paperback at Dave.

"Christ, Fancy, calm down –"

"I'm calm, David. I'm perfectly _calm_. I just don't –" Kurt's shoulders slumped. "I don't get _why_."

"It's just. A thing."

"What thing?"

"I'm workin' on it, okay?"

Kurt sighed and nodded, putting the book away, distantly noting that it was _Atonement_.

-

"I guess you didn't really need my help, then."

"You probably know way more about this shit than I'll ever do, so."

Kurt tilts his head, shrugging with feigned modesty. Dave takes it as a truce, feeling his stomach unknot.

"_Crap_, I'm late. Can you believe I honestly lost track of time? With _math_, of all things."

Dave's lips start curling into a smile that falls as soon he understood the direct consequence of Kurt being late.

"You gotta go?"

"I _should_."

Kurt glances at him, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"I _have to_."

Dave nods, his face as neutral as he could will it to be.

There's a knock at the door, startling them.

"Boys?"

"_Come in_, mom," drawls Dave, sighing.

His mother peers in, predictably all smiles for Kurt, who is practically bursting with self-satisfaction.

"Honey, are you staying for dinner?"

Dave snorts at his mother's eagerness, then thinks better about stones and glass roofs, and decides to keep his mouth shut.

"I would _really_ like that," and Dave _really_ hopes that the stress is there for his sake. "But I already promised to help my stepmother with a new recipe today."

Dave slaps his hand to his own forehead. His mom just completely _lights up_, who does that with someone else's kid, seriously.

"You _cook_?," she asks reverently, as if Kurt usually does it while shooting marzipan flowers out of his ass and burping perfectly seasoned garlic bread.

"A little," admits Kurt modestly, and Dave would fall down laughing at this self-depreciation bullshit if the grin on his mother's face wasn't so disturbing.

Fuck, he was just kidding about those adoption papers.

"That is just –" His mother seems to catch herself, fucking_ finally_, because this girl-crush on Fancy is getting ridiculous, and Dave's getting honestly confused over who should he be feeling jealous of. "But if you have to go, you have to go. We _will_ be seeing you more often, won't we?" and now she's _glaring_ at Dave, what, what _is_ this, _woman_, you gave birth to _me_.

Kurt's eyelashes flutter and he looks so fucking pleased with himself, but Dave can't for the world begrudge him this, not when it looks so good on him.

"I hope so," he says softly. Dave wants to beat himself into a pulp because he almost missed the shy, lightning-quick glance thrown in his direction.

His mother is looking between them again with eyes that are starting to look a little misty as she takes in the stupid grin that Dave can't seem to wipe off his own face, and fuckfuck_fuck,_ he knows what's coming, he _knew_ what was coming as soon as she hinted at Kurt coming over yesterday.

"Can I –" She blushes slightly, her lips twitching. "Can I hug you?"

"_Mom_, _God_!"

Kurt elbows him lightly before Dave can set her straight.

"S-sure," the smaller boy says feebly, his eyes widening when Lisa proceeds to do just that.

That's right, his mom gives killer hugs. Like, literally, and not in a very good way.

And she just got farther with his crush than David has in a long-ass time.

Huh.

Kurt seems a little overwhelmed as Dave looks on, feeling torn between snorting and sneering. His mom finally relents, stepping back and wiping her eyes discreetly.

"Christ, mom."

"Oh, shut up." Her hand his twitching in front of her, and Dave really hopes she knows what she's doing, because _no way_ she can get away with ruffling Kurt's hair. "I'll see you soon, then, Kurt."

She waves of his stuttering gratitude, walking out of the door at a brisk pace. Dave is just hoping she'll get used to this new stuff fast, or they'll be having meltdowns way into Christmas.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine, David, honestly." Kurt rolls his eyes haughtily, but Dave doesn't miss the unsure curve of his mouth. "She is sweet."

"She's just not used to –"

"To what?"

"Me," whispers Dave, a little ashamed.

Kurt stares at him thoughtfully and nods, slowly. Dave clears is throat; it sounds obnoxiously loud in the quietness of the room.

"Want me to walk you to your car?"

"You don't mind?"

"Asked, didn't I?" Dave shakes his head and gathers Kurt's papers in a neat pile. "You know, if you need anymore help with these –"

"I got myself some free tutoring?" Kurt grins impishly, picking up his bag.

Dave can think up a dozen awesome ways in which Kurt can repay him, and he could conjure about sixty-seven more given a little time, but he just shrugs in agreement, following the other boy out of the house.

The light is growing dim outside, and Dave realizes with a start how right Kurt was about losing track of time. It just hadn't occurred to him till now how easy he finds it, this thing where he just _is_ with Kurt. Even when he's unsure of his footing, there's this underlying layer of, not happiness, happiness would be pushing Kurt down over the hood of his car and sucking a dark, hot line down that gorgeous pale neck, but _contentment_, maybe.

"Call me?"

"Huh?"

"Will _you_." Kurt points to him. "Call _me_." He slaps a hand over his own chest. "Later." He starts to make a revolving motion with his fingers, his fucking _stunning _eyes twinkling happily in this fucking perfect light, so Dave just grabs his hand, presses his fingertips hard into that soft, yielding palm, and kisses him silent.

_What._

No, fucking _no_, he is turning batshit _insane_, because he seriously just envisioned it all in his head, and now Kurt is frowning up at him, with equal parts of bemusement and annoyance, and this is _not cool. _Fu-uck.

"Sorry, hum. Yeah, sure."

"O-kay," says Kurt slowly, still looking at him strangely.

"Wait, you mean later _today_?"

"As in preferably after dinner, yes."

"Hum."

"What."

"Well, last time you 'bout yanked by head off for calling you so soon." He smirks at Kurt's exasperated sigh.

"I'm _asking_ you to, aren't I?"

"I _guess_. Wait, you're not gonna get naked again, are you?" he asks with honest-to-God panicked worry, because it wasn't _fun_ that other time, it might have seemed like an awesome joke to _Kurt_, but Dave had had to fucking exhaust himself into sleep by jerking off. Putting jeans on the next morning had _not_ been a nice ride.

Kurt gives him an unreadable look and mutters a weak 'no'. He looks a little bit in shock, though Dave will figure out how to blow himself before he can guess why.

"Okay then, I'll –"

"You don't have to."

"What?"

"Don't bother." It's practically spat out, and Kurt is definitely not in shock anymore, he looks _pissed_.

At Dave.

Oh, fuck the world, really.

"Kurt –"

"I'll probably be busy, anyway. Puck and Sam are coming over for a semi horror movie marathon, and Finn wanted me to hang out with them, so I guess."

He's getting into his car.

Kurt Fucking Hummel is getting into his car, about to pull off of Dave's driveway, about to go home to watch horror movies all night with three horny lucky bastards.

And Dave is going to let him.

Because, really.

He's good. He's _so _good.

He turns his back to the road when Kurt turns the corner.

He doesn't call him that night, because Kurt said he shouldn't bother, and in Kurt's speak that's like 'I won't pick up, no matter how many times you call, I don't fucking care if you're lying in a ditch somewhere_, I won't pick up'_.

So Dave doesn't. He keeps fiddling with his phone, checking the battery, the number of reception bars, even texts himself a couple of times to see if everything is working okay.

Kurt never calls, even though Dave waits for him to until four in the morning.

What else is he supposed to do?

-

_Not getting naked __**again**__, are you?_

Kurt keeps his phone in his pocket while he helps Carole dispose baby carrots into appealing shapes.

He ups the ringtone to full volume before starting to wash the dishes.

He locks himself in his bedroom claiming a headache before Puck and Sam even arrive, and keeps the phone in his hand while listlessly pretending to be busy and honestly not waiting for Dave to call.

He stops fighting sleep at a quarter past four in the morning; his phone gets lost between the sheets and he almost hyperventilates when he wakes up and can't find it, but oh, _there_.

It makes him wish he had never found it.

There isn't a single text from Dave.

Not even a missed call.

So he just buries himself under the covers again and mashes his face against the pillow, stubbornly dismissing its increasing wetness.

What else is he supposed to do?

-

**Author's Note 2.0:** … sorry?


	14. I'll Give You My Jacket

**Author's Notes:** Because I'm too biased to write good Finchel. Because GAY BAR was too amazing and I'm still flailing. Because this part was a necessary bridge. Because we're almost _there_, guys, and I'm getting melancholic.

-/-/-/-/

"... Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"Hum, hi. You – you haven't called."

"So?"

"..."

"You told me not to, didn't you?"

"I –"

"Why didn't _you_ call, huh?"

"But –"

"Fuck, Kurt, a _week_?"

"I –"

"Don't know why I still give a shit."

"Dave, I..."

"That all you have to say?"

"I can't – I don't –"

"Right. Be seeing you."

"No, Dave!"

"..."

"_Dave_..."

"..."

"..."

-/-/-/-/

"Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I thought you would, and then you _didn't_ – so I was mad, but then you _wouldn't_, and –"

"Kurt?"

"Just listen to me, Dave, please, I'm sorry, I really am, and I _wanted_ to call you, but first I was mad, and then I was – I was _scared_, god, please tell me to shut up now –"

"_Kurt._"

"Don't hang up, Dave, _please_ –"

"I'm not, Fancy, _God_."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I blew up at you like that."

"It's okay."

"Didn't sound like it."

"I –"

"Kurt –"

"Oh my god, I'm such a – I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"S-sorry, David, I've got to go – I –"

"Fancy?"

"..."

"Shit, _really_?"

"..."

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"..."

"..."

-/-/-/-/

"Finn?"

"Oh, hey, hi, Kurt. I'm just gonna give you Rachel, okay?"

"No, it's definitely not okay, what makes you think I –"

"Kurt?"

"Why do I even – _hi_, Rachel."

"Finn told me you've been feeling a little depressed."

"A _lot_. Like, seriously, man, you're bringing everybody down. Mom's been burning _pancakes_, Burt –"

"Finn, you big-mouthed, good for nothing –"

"He's worried about you, Kurt."

"He can go worry himself sick to –"

"Do you need a moment?"

"No, I _don't_ need a moment, Rachel, I need you, and Finn, and _Blaine_ to just stuff your advice up your –"

"I'm going to give you a moment."

"I don't want a moment!"

"Breathe with me, Kurt."

"_No_."

"One in... one out... one in..."

"Stop it!"

"One out... one in... one out..."

"I– I–"

"Are you breathing with me?"

"... yes."

"Good. Repeat, one in... one out..."

"..."

"Kurt?"

"... one in... one out... one in..."

"..."

"..."

"A little better?"

"I – what kind of sorcery is this?"

"Just a simple, very useful chant I do before every performance."

"I _did_ miss your insanity."

"Thank you. I'm used to my expertise being constantly undervalued."

"I'm sure. Well, I feel better now, so –"

"_Kurt_."

"Tell your boyfriend that, as of now, he is _persona non grata_ in any room I happen to walk in."

"I was just trying to help!"

"He _was_ just trying to help."

"Please stop trying."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do. I really do."

"You're obviously not dealing well with this."

"I'm perfectly capable of –"

"You don't have to be alone, Kurt."

"You –"

"We should have a sleepover!"

"A _sleepover_?"

"Yes! Like the one we had when you were upset over Blaine and –"

"Oh _god_."

"And we could watch _Grease_ again to discuss the ending's unfortunate implications and how younger Mr. Travolta's intense gaze still manages to skillfully undress you every time."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry but it does, Finn. It is an extremely erotic gaze."

"Or I could just leave you two to your obnoxiously cute bickering and go swallow glass dust."

"You cannot be _that_ miserable, Kurt."

"I think the both of you just might be making it worse."

"Dude, if you want to kiss Karofsky that bad, just do it already. Jeez."

"_What_?"

"Sshh, Finn, I told you to _ease_ him into it."

"_What_?"

"Yeah, but it's getting nowhere. And he started watching _football_ with me and Burt."

"Aww, Kurt, that's so sweet."

"… why? And, by the way, I was watching football with _my _father long before you came along, Finn."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? David –"

"Yeah, but you didn't watch _watch_. You always left the room like, ten minutes into it."

"You two kept shushing me!"

"Hey, sorry if we don't want to hear you narrate the homoerotic subtext of every tackle."

"I was being diplomatic. There's no sub about that particular text."

"How does Kurt watch _watch_, then?"

"He keeps asking questions and stuff. He's got _notes_. And a chart, once."

"Charts are extremely important."

"You are such a great prospective boyfriend, Kurt."

"Excuse me?"

"Or should I believe that this sudden interest in the sport is merely coincidental?"

"… yes?"

"Dude, _no_."

"Shut up, Finn!"

"_Boys_. Could we please get back to the main subject here?"

"Which would be what, exactly?"

"Don't be so snippy. We're trying to help."

"You know, Rachel just told me to do it."

"_What_?"

"Finn, I really don't think –"

"She told me I could kiss her."

"While you were dating Quinn."

"Huh, yeah."

"And she was pregnant with your child. Oh, _wait_."

"Low blow, man. Like, your ex's height _low_."

"I think what Finn is trying to say – I'll admit a little clumsily – is that you –"

"Am I honestly the only one here who sees how invalid this piece of advice really _is_?"

"But, Kurt –"

"And why am I the _girl_ in this situation?"

"Well, you –"

"You're the one pining 'cause Dave won't kiss you."

"Because only _girls_ pine. How you've managed to get two of those to date you and yet another one to sleep with you will never fail to astound me."

"Well, Finn is –"

"You're just jealous 'cause I totally get more tail than you."

"…_tail_? And with your girlfriend right there. What in the name of breathable fabric did I ever _see_ in you?"

"Huh. Thought we weren't talking about that."

"I'm evaluating my past choices. Particularly the bad ones. Deal with it."

"Okay."

"Am I allowed to talk now, or –"

"Why can't you just tell him? Like with Blaine?"

"Look how well _that_ turned out."

"What? You got together."

"Only afterexcruciating _weeks_ of knowing my crush thought I had no real sexual appeal, and that between me and Rachel Berry, a drunken gay boy would immediately go for Rachel."

"Look, don't get me wrong, I'm all or giving Karofsky a chance, but if he tries to pull any funny stuff with my girlfriend –"

"If I thought Dave had any doubts whatsoever about his sexuality, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, Finn."

"Oh, will you two just _stop_?"

"What now, Rachel."

"I just – will you man up and _kiss the boy_ already?"

"_What_?"

"It worked for me and Finn."

"Well, fine! That certainly takes all that pesky wrecking tension away!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Take your own conclusions."

"We have a beautiful, admittedly rocky history behind us."

"And who says I want _that_?"

"Kurt –"

"I don't want – I don't want _Finchel_, okay, I don't want your star-crossed story of martyrdom, I only – I just –"

"Oh, sweetie –"

"I want – I want Dave. Just."

"What are you waiting for?"

"I –"

"In the one in a _universe_ chance of him _not_ kissing you back, you can call it even and resume your friendship with a blank slate."

"Or I could just shoot myself."

"That would be counter-productive."

"I'm past that stage, Rachel, okay? This isn't – it isn't about giving it a shot, and worse for him if it doesn't work, anymore. This is _me_ curling in my bed in fetal position; me positively _dreading_ his next call; me feeling like dying when it doesn't come; me hating myself for being such a fucking _coward_ and not being able to do anything about it!"

"_Dude_."

"Oh, go fuck a kite."

"Language! And it's go fly a –"

"You just have to _do it_, you know?"

"It? _It_ it?"

"Wha – no! Man, thanks a lot for the mental picture."

"You're always welcome."

"I'm not leaving you _any_ waffles tomorrow."

"I don't eat waffles, Finn. Empty calories, remember?"

"Nah."

"Actually, waffles are –"

"See, you just gotta, you know?"

"I – no, not really."

"You will."

"_What_?"  
>"When it's time, you'll know."<p>

"Are you _serious_?"

"You just can't think about it, okay? Just go with it."

"You're _not_ channeling Rafiki effectively right now, Finn. You think you are, but you're not."

"Oh, I've always wanted to do a 'Can You Feel The Love Tonight' duet with –"

"You'll know."

"Tell me you're not nodding wisely. I don't think I can take the wise nod."

"You will, Kurt."

"I'm hanging up now. Bye, Rachel. The stepbrother is on the house, you can keep him. _Do_ keep him."

"Just do it."

"No, Kurt, we need to talk about –"

"Shut. Up. Finn!"

"When it's right. You'll know."

"…"

"That was very rude of him."

"Hey, weren't we making out?"

"This whole Kurt/David debacle is decisively inspiring."

"I think we were making out."

"I'm sure I – _there_'s my rhyming dictionary! I've been looking all over for it!"

"We _were_ making out."

"Sshh, Finn, I need to concentrate."

"But –"

"Sshh!"

"…"

"…"

-/-/-/-/

"Hi, Kurt."

"Hi, Dave."

"…"

"…"

"Shit. Look, can we not?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm just so fucking sick of _not_ talking to you."

"…"

"Kurt, come on, I – _Jesus_."

"Me– me too."

"… really?"

"Y-yes."

"…"

"…"

"_Fuck_. Do we need to talk about this?"

"About _what_, exactly?"

"Okay, I can work with that. Huh, wait up."

"What –"

"Yeah, so?"

"…why are you yelling?"

"_Mom_!"

"Oh, say hi to her for me!"

"I'll be _fine_. And he's not coming over."

"Who isn't?"

"You."

"Why would I be?"

"He's _not_, mom, Christ."

"At least have the decency to invite me first, so that I can work on a dignified refusal?"

"Yeah, yeah, walk Willy, lock the door, don't mess with the fireplace, don't set the house on fire, geez."

"I'm all confusion, David."

"I thought _you_ were driving Alex there."

"Hmm. Mmm-hmmm. Hmmm. Hmm."

"_Fine_. But if she forgets her sleeping bag again, I don't even care. What's-Her-Name's floor will have to do."

"Hummm. Mmm-hmm. Hum, hum. Hmmm."

"Fancy?"

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"You alright there?"

"Oh, are we back to making sense? Good."

"Yeah, sorry. My mom's all over the place right now. My dad is gonna have to stay at my grandma's this weekend 'cause her microwave blew up _again_ and she thinks it's possessed."

"Likely. Has she considered getting a new one?"

"Nah. But she had it exorcized once, though. Guess it didn't take."

"…"

"Family, huh? He's going over there now, said she sounded kinda hysteric over the phone. And my mom's got the night shift today, so. _Panic_."

"Seventeen-year-old son home alone on a Saturday night? I can't imagine why."

"And my sister's having a sleepover, talk about lucky break. Think they're afraid I'm gonna have some celebratory coming-out orgy or something."

"Without inviting _me_? For shame, David."

"You? Orgy? Hum."

"Sounds interesting. Tell me more."

"Mom, get _off_ me!"

"Hi, Mrs. Karofsky!"

"… she wants you to call her Lisa. My. Life. What."

"Tell her I'll try. Oh, and that her living-room curtains are the exact same shade of blue as this cardigan I've been positively _lusting_ after for two weeks now."

"Seriously? What, do you guys need some time alone or –"

"Tell her I've had _dreams_ about that pie."

"No, mom, he doesn't wanna talk to you."

"She wants to talk to me? David!"

"I'm not just gonna –"

"The pie, Dave! Tell her about the pie!"

"Because dudes don't just say _that_ to other dudes, that's why!"

"What don't they say?"

"Yeah, sorry to let you down."

"Dave, be nice to your mom."

"Fine, I'll tell him, _God_."

"Tell me what?"

"Just go away, mom."

"David!"

"What?"

"Be _nice_."

"Not nice, remember?"

"Hum."

"So, she said to, huh –"

"Yes?"

"Send you her love. Or something."

"Really? Oh god, she's so incredibly sweet."

"More like incredibly lame, but whatever."

"And you're incredibly emotionally constipated."

"You could hear her from the _kitchen_?"

"Your mom? No, of course not."

"_Freaky_."

"Why?"

"'Cause she said like, the exact same thing. And that she thought gay men had the advantage of being more in touch with their feelings."

"I think the 'men' part is a deterrent. Me excluded, of course."

"Of course."

"I'm very much in touch with my own feelings, just so you know."

"Sure you are."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Emotionally constipated, remember? I don't speak feelings."

"Uhgh, David."

"You two are totally giving me a complex."

"Alcohol seems to be a good cure for that particular kind of difficulty. The emotionally constipated kind, not the complex kind. Well, both of them, actually."

"Yeah? You don't seem the type to get drunk."

"Once. Never again."

"_Really_?"

"You shouldn't sound so keen."

"What happened?"

"To me? Not much. To Ms. Pillsbury's shoes, however…"

"I missed _that_?"

"Sophomore year. I had been told it worked well in boosting your confidence."

"I _guess_… Wait, you haven't since?"

"Been inebriated enough to not be able to tell last season pink leather pumps from a toilet? Nope."

"Shit, I really need to get you drunk one of these days."

"Were you _listening_? No, thank you."

"Come on, it would be crazy funny."

"Glad I entertain."

"Would love to see what crazy shit comes out of your mouth when you're like that."

"You're a dedicated, caring friend."

"I know, I'm awesome."

"_Crazy_ awesome."

"Your sarcasm is crazy useless 'cause I'm gonna take you seriously."

"If you must."

"Really. You. Alcohol. Will happen."

"No, thank you."

"Aww, come on. Everyone's gotta have at least one drunken, blanking out, waking up lying on the neighbor's driveway wearing only a striped sock and a spiked collar."

"… right. That is oddly specific. And I don't like intoxicated people."

"Bad experience?"

"My crush kissed a girl and then fell asleep in my bed without even a thank you. I'm guessing yes."

"… what."

"Blaine."

"Your _bed_?"

"Long story."

"Yeah, I bet."

"God, now you sound just like my dad."

"Whatever."

"I don't much like the idea of blanking out anyway."

"…"

"Actually, I have no respect for people who_ do_ blank out completely, and then can't seem to remember a single thing the next day."

"Fuck you, Kurt, are you for fucking real, Jesus –"

"What?"

"Shit, I can't even – I'm just gonna go, okay?"

"_David_!"

"No, _fuck you_, I can't deal with your shit right now."

"David, what –"

"Fuck. You."

"Don't!"

"…"

"I –"

"…"

"I _can't_."

"…"

"Just do it. Right."

"…"

"…"


	15. I'll Give You My Heart

**Author's Notes:** God, it's _long_. And out there, just for you. Maybe I should be feeling melancholic, but it's so freaking _late _over here and I'm _dead_. It probably won't meet your expectations, which is totally my fault with the handing out of UST like it's yesterday candy. But I've been dying to write this for so long, and will love it forever even if you're all disappointed.

I'll be posting a new chapter tomorrow with replies to some reviews I should have replied to but didn't because I'm sinfully _lazy_. And so many of you read my mind, and were wonderful, and the only thing keeping this story afloat was all that _love_. SO THANK YOU, YOU MAGICAL READERS.

* * *

><p>Sitting through dinner.<p>

Ignoring Finn's expressive eyebrow lifts and hand signs.

Undressing for bed.

That had not been the worst.

_Not_ getting dressed again at a quarter to two – he was supposed to not be thinking about it, and just doing it, and knowing, a wop baba lumop, a wap bam boom, and other ditties; tiptoeing through the house at ten to two; closing the front door at two in the morning, with crossed fingers and crossed toes.

That had not been the worst, either.

Not even getting into his car.

Not even driving, no, _crawling_ away with the minimal amount of noise possible and hoping against hope that karma would even up the score at last and grant him a clean escape.

Not even pulling up three houses down from David's and making the rest of the way clad only in jogging sneakers and his dark camouflage pajamas.

Not even _that_ had been the worst – nerve wrecking, but not the worst.

Because, you see, karma hated Kurt Hummel. And karma was _not _making it up to him, as it should, as it _ought_.

_Karma_ was, to understate it, a _bitch_, and the worst was Kurt staring at Dave's window, half-open like a formal invitation, and feeling unbearably gutless.

Kurt breathed in deeply and let his head fall back, staring up at the moonless sky and considering his options. The midsummer night air was tepid; he could sit outside Dave's house for the rest of the night without freezing into a gruesomely unfashionable ice pop.

On the other hand, he could just go home.

Dave's window being open rendered useless the three pebbles he had clasped in his right hand; he could climb in without much difficulty.

On the other hand, he could just go home.

He could get buck-naked and run up and down Dave's street, belting out 'Judas' off-key until someone called the police and he had a decent excuse for not going through with this; he would call David from the station and ask him to pick him up. Surely a near-arrest would soften up the other boy enough to end this new stalemate.

On the other hand, he could just go home.

"_Courage."_

_But, "Fuck. You."_

_So? "What are you waiting for?"_

_But…"Don't know why I still give a shit."_

_And? "Just do it."_

_But –_

He shook himself harshly, clenched his fists and squared his shoulders, glaring defiantly at the gap between the thick navy curtains separating him from Dave's bedroom.

_Dave_.

He was going into Dave's bedroom. At night – or what could already classify as incredibly early morning.

He was going into his _crush_'s bedroom in the middle of the night, pajama-clad, sneaker-footed, shamefaced and scared shitless.

Uninvited.

Maybe even _unwanted_.

_Cour_ –

"Shut up, Blaine," he hissed under his breath, pushing himself up onto the window ledge.

The rubber soles of his sneakers slipped on the smooth wall, but held for the two seconds Kurt needed to push one knee up. And, just like that, he was landing with a thankfully soft thud on the hardwood floor, his hands barely refraining from grasping the curtains in what would most decisively be a disastrous move.

Steadying himself, he toed off his shoes, putting them away neatly by Dave's desk. Being barefoot made him feel all the more vulnerable, but his nerves were already too frayed to handle the rubbery squeaks of the sneakers on the smooth wood. He squinted in the darkness of the room, impatiently willing his eyes to adjust to the lack of street lighting.

Then he almost wished they hadn't, because that meant he got to perceive the outline of David lying on his stomach on the bed quite clearly. His face was turned to Kurt's side of the room and one of his arms had slid over the edge of the mattress at some point during the night; his fingertips were grazing the floor.

Kurt suddenly felt a very distinct urge to just slide down onto his knees and stare at Dave's sleep slack face all night.

As a rule, he did not find people asleep all that attractive. Lack of control over facial muscles, the occasional drooling, red splotches from pillowcase creases weren't factors that conjugated in attractiveness, _as a rule_.

So he was smitten.

Huh.

That much was _obvious_. Dave's face was of the sort that handled facial expressions magnificently; therefore, his was not a good face for dullness or blankness, even the sleep-induced kind. His mouth was gaping open a little, and there, there, _there_, a darker spot on the light blue sheet just beneath it; his forehead was slightly creased, and his cheek was positively smashed against the pillow – he looked just like any other person in a stage of deep unfeeling sleep ought to look, and Kurt's eyes were drinking him in as hungrily as if they'd never seen a better sight. He sighed glumly, grabbing at his own upper arms to keep from reaching out.

He was unmistakably, irrevocably, unreservedly _fucked_.

And then Dave opened his eyes.

Kurt stumbled back, his hands groping blindly at the wall; he deeply regretted having eaten that chicken and sweet corn salad at dinner, because it hadn't gone down well and it was definitely coming up even worse.

What if Dave freaked out thinking Kurt was a burglar?

What if he beat Kurt down with a baseball bat?

What if he called the police? Or worse, his _mom_?

She wouldn't be giving Kurt bone-cracking hugs, or letting him call her Lisa after catching him breaking into her son's bedroom like some nasty rapist-_slash_-serial killer-_slash-_serial rapist _and_ killer, now, would she?

He held his breath, hoping to delay hyperventilation by dying.

"Hey." Dave yawned, sitting up slowly while still looking three-quarters asleep.

Well. Apparently he had been overreacting.

"H-hey?" squeaked Kurt. His back was still pressed against the wall, inches from the open window, from freedom, from a lifetime of misery. Strong full-body shudders took him over without warning; he must be coming down with a fever strong enough to put him to his deathbed.

"You – you're shivering." Dave blinked drowsily. "You don't do that."

"W-what?" Kurt cringed at the crack in his voice.

Dave's forehead wrinkled as he gave Kurt a sleepy smile.

"All those other times. You don't –" He shook his head. "Can't believe I'm still talking. We always move past that fast enough."

"We – we do?"

"Always starts right in the middle, doesn't it?" Dave shrugged, still smiling. "Doesn't matter. It's not like I'm complaining here."

Kurt nodded, with no clue to what he was agreeing with. His feet moved him forward one step and then halted, unsure. His fingers tightened on the fabric of his pajama top, suddenly wishing he had taken the time to wear something warmer and, well, _else_.

Pajamas were so _not_ a killer seduction outfit – not on him, anyway.

Dave moved back on the bed, apparently making space for him between his bent legs. Kurt's throat clamped up and he felt his knees jitter at the thought of just moving forward and… kneeling on the bed and… being _there_ between Dave's knees, with his hands somewhere on Dave's body, with Dave's own hands _all over_ his body.

"Come here," said the other boy softly, holding up one hand.

Kurt nodded again, rooted to the spot.

"Baby?"

_Oh god_.

He saw more than felt his feet shuffling forward, his knee coming down on the edge of the mattress, his trembling hand reaching out to grasp Dave's.

"Sshh. What's wrong?" Dave's brow creased. "You're _shaking_."

"_Dave_ –"

"Here." David pulled Kurt to him until the slighter boy was kneeling fully between his legs. He rested his hands on Kurt's hips, his thumbs stroking lightly over sharp hipbones; the nonchalance of the gesture was enough to make Kurt's head spin.

"Shit." The back of Dave's hand brushed the hem of Kurt's top. "I'm actually going insane, aren't I?"

"What?" whispered Kurt shakily.

"'S just –" Dave's eyes fell shut and he shuffled forward, breathing in. Breathing _Kurt_ in. "So _real_."

Kurt blinked.

_What?_

"Dave?" Kurt brought one still shaky hand to Dave's shoulder. He bit his lip harshly to keep from whimpering at the warmth radiating through the flimsy fabric. A cooler breeze whispered through the curtains, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand up; it hit Dave's bed warm skin like a freezing blow.

His eyes flew open.

"You're a dream."

"No, I'm –" Kurt shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I'm _not_, I – _Dave_."

"You _are_." Despite the firm denial, Dave's grasp on Kurt's hips was faltering.

"I'm _not_." Kurt grimaced at his own harshness, but really. He was a man on a mission. "Honestly, David."

"No way." Dave swallowed. "No fucking way you're _not_."

"I think I would –"

"No fucking way in goddamn hell Kurt Fucking Hummel would be where your perky little immaterial ass is sitting right now, so." He licked his lips, breathing heavily. "Take it. The fuck. Back."

Kurt quirked one eyebrow. "Perky?"

"Fuck. You _can't_."

"Why not?"

"Because Kurt Fucking Hummel is a bitchy drama queen with fucking awful taste in guys, and if you think I'll believe he'd willingly get into bed with me, _looking_ at me like _that_, you can checkout of Dreamland right the fuck now. If you're not here for your usual sorry-ass imitation of Kurt, then I'd like to get some sleep for once."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm definitely the drama queen here." He surveyed his own perch on the bed; Dave's hands were still frozen on his hips, so he conceded to being much to comfortable to stir. "This little Sleeping-Beauty-on-crack act of yours is entertaining but ultimately quite disturbing."

It should be quite funny from an outsider's perspective. Dave let out a sort of strangled sound and jumped away from Kurt – which, being that they were sitting on reasonably tangled sheets, meant that his left foot got caught, sending him rolling helplessly onto the floor.

Kurt folded his legs under his body, mock-sighing to hide his amusement. Dave was staring at him with utterly terrified eyes; his body was a crumpled heap on the floor, half-wrapped in the beddings.

"As a dance style, it looks unique enough, I'll grant you."

Dave kept staring, having apparently gone mute with shock.

"The landing, though. You might have some hard worked paved out for you."

"You… you – what? I… you…_what_?"

Kurt gave him his best coy smile, pressing his hands palms down on the bed and leaning forward.

"Hi, David."

He licked his lips as the jock opened and closed his mouth several times, his Adam's apple moving up and down when he swallowed audibly.

"David?"

"You're here."

Kurt's brow lifted.

"What great powers of deduction you have there, grandma."

"No, _here_, I mean, _there_, what– what are you doing here?" David's eyebrows had successfully merged.

Kurt shook his head in dismay and pointed at the glowing alarm clock on Dave's nightstand. The boy followed his finger with bewildered eyes but turned to Kurt again, blinking.

"It's, huh, two thirty?" He looked down at the bedspread twisted around his legs. "Wait, the fuck am I saying. What. The hell. You – _my room_?" His voice was hoarse and disbelieving as he clambered to a kneeling position at the foot of the bed.

Kurt spread his hands on the mattress, his body heating up as he felt Dave's leftover warmth under his fingertips.

"Well, it is _now_." He bit his lip. "But when I left my house it was 2 a.m. sharp."

Dave lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. "So?"

"David!"

"What?"

"I just – uhgh, David!"

The other boy looked at him helplessly and Kurt melted a little, his indignation fading.

"I snuck out at two in the morning." Dave just kept looking. "To come _here_. Not to Westerville, or Finn's bedroom or even Valencia, California. _Here_."

"What's in Val–"

"Off-topic, David! _Focus_." Kurt gave him a desperate look.

"I don't – Kurt, it's the middle of the night. You're in my room and, as fucking awesome as that sounds, I'm gonna need small words to get the basics of whatever's going on here."

It was only a flutter at first, butterfly wings against his ribcage. Then, somehow, one timid fluttering called to another and it was as if Kurt's body had grown three sizes too small to hold the thunderstorm raging inside it.

"Awesome?" he said faintly, waiting with bated breath for Dave to _finally _put him out of his misery.

"Huh?"

"Dave," he whispered. "Come here." He held his hand out, unconsciously mirroring Dave's earlier gesture. "Please."

The other boy gulped and wobbled forward on his knees; he braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, fingers fidgeting mere inches from Kurt's naked ankle.

Kurt smiled warmly and inched to the side – an invitation. Dave breathed heavily through his nose, once, twice, and then climbed onto the bed again.

"I snuck out." Kurt folded his hands on his lap. "And football is the dumbest, most useless sport ever played, but I'm getting there. And –" Dave was being disturbingly quiet. "And I spent three whole hours making sure I could _own_ 'Kiss Me', which, _waste_." He glared at the jock, who only blinked back in sheer confusion. "But the _beret_, David. I can't put together a single outfit that incorporates it without wanting to claw my eyes out and rip my whole wardrobe to shreds. You'll have to give me time." He paused, tilting his head. "I'm forgetting something, aren't I? I know I am, David, just give me one one hint."

"No fucking clue, Fancy."

Kurt narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Really? _Really_? Are you utterly immune to romance by any chance?"

"R-Romance?" said David, sounding choked.

"Oh, I remember!" Kurt sat up straighter, a shock of restless energy running down his spine. "Wait. Hum." His hands came up to grab onto Dave's shoulders, probably a little too forcefully, but the other boy seemed too distracted to protest. "I – I'll just do it, okay? Just –"

His mouth found Dave's sooner than he had expected it.

The kiss was meant to be chaste and swift: Kurt was trying to make a point. He hadn't counted on his eyes fluttering shut, on his hands curling tightly around Dave's shoulders, on his body leaning forward in a move that stomped all over the line of _chaste_. But it was _Dave_. Dave's mouth under his, finally, finally, _finally,_ and if Kurt didn't think there might be even better things paved out for them, he would have gladly melted away into a early death.

He pulled away with more reluctance than he cared for and let out a breathy little sigh, refusing to open his eyes just yet. And he wanted to give David time to adjust, push Kurt down on the bed and get on with the program already.

Which, _no_.

He opened his eyes to see David Karofsky staring at him with the exact definition of a dumbstruck expression, bug-eyes included.

"_David_," he muttered crossly, leaning in again and pressing his lips harshly to Dave's own. He let it linger, caressing Dave's firmly closed mouth with his suppler one. His lips parted almost of their own accord and he whimpered pitiful as Dave kept up the statue-act. The two of them broke apart again and Kurt searched Dave's wide-open eyes anxiously; he could feel his courage dissipating faster than he could summon it, and if David didn't –

He pushed against Dave's body, almost sliding into the other boy's lap, and linked his arms around his neck, suddenly unable to process Dave's lack of response and only wanting _more_.

Dave smelled like warm sheets and drowsiness and Dave, Dave, _Dave_, and that was apparently the key to igniting a bonfire on every cell of Kurt's body. He pressed light kisses to the corners of David's mouth, lingering ones to the dip of Dave's upper lip and licked at the spot just bellow the curve of his bottom lip, sucking in a victorious breath when the other boy shuddered underneath him.

His conquest was short-lived, however.

"D-Dave?" whispered Kurt, his voice thick and anxious, and pulled away slightly. The first real look at the other boy's face had him ready to yank out his own heart, stomp on it and throw it at Dave's feet for him to spit on.

It was heartbreaking to see how powerless Dave looked, how fucking _terrified_. He looked defenseless and shell-shocked, and Kurt was _wrong_, he was wrong about this, and Finn was wrong, and Rachel, and _Blaine_, of course Blaine was wrong, it had all been Blaine's fault the first time and now Kurt knew first-hand how it felt to kiss someone you wanted so badly and have them utterly stunned and – and _scared_. Except Dave couldn't ever have wanted Kurt as much as Kurt wanted _him_, could he now, not when he was frozen like this. He shouldn't be able to keep from touching Kurt the way Kurt was _aching_ to touch Dave now.

"Oh god." He let his hands fall from Dave's face, lifeless. "Oh _god_, David."

"Kurt, wha –"

"I'm so sorry, so fucking _sorry_, I didn't mean to –" His voice sounded distance, underwater; the wetness blurring his vision only strengthened the feeling. "I'll go, right now, I'll just – you can pretend you never even knew me, I won't call, won't bother you ever _again_, I promise, I –"

"The _fuck_?"

"I'm so –" Kurt spluttered against the broad hand suddenly covering his mouth.

"Will you quit that already? _Jesus_." Dave rubbed his eyes with his other hand, still looking a bit out of it. He reached back to turn on the lamp fixed to the wall and the both of them squinted painfully at the sudden brightness. "You're gonna calm your shit, okay? It's almost three in the fucking morning, you show up here out of fucking _nowhere_, and you're in my bed, and you're not a dream, and you kiss me, and_ you're not a dream_, so you just. Chill." He sighed, his thumb twitching has it brushed over Kurt's eyelashes. "'Cause, you know, I need to not be having a breakdown right now."

Dave gave him a sharp look and Kurt nodded quickly in agreement. Dave took his hand away slowly, hovering over Kurt's cheek for a while, then settling for scratching the back of his own neck.

"Right. Mind filling a guy in?"

"I thought… I thought it was _obvious_," Kurt murmured, still missing the warmth and weight of Dave's hand on his face.

"No."

"No?"

"No." Dave slid back to rest against the wall beside the bed. "I can't – it's _not_. It's never obvious with you, can't let it be obvious with you."

"Dave?"

"Wanna know what went through my mind every time I saw you last year?" Kurt lifted one confused eyebrow at the sudden question. "Before – you know."

Kurt nodded slowly.

"Before you kissed me."

"… yeah. Yeah. I thought – I used to think you'd be so _thankful_. If I did it. 'Cause you were the only gay kid at school, and I wasn't _gay_, it was just you, so I should just do it to get it the fuck over with, and you'd be _glad_, you'd be over the goddamn moon for getting the chance." Dave groaned and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "I thought it was _obvious_. I mean, how else could it go? And I wasn't gonna do it, 'cause shit, I wasn't gay, I wasn't a freak, wasn't a fairy like Hummel –" He paused. Kurt nudged him lightly on the shoulder. "Shit. I just – _always_, in that moment before I could set my mind straight – pun fucking intended, by the way – that was all I could think about. Kissing a guy. Kissing a gay guy and having him kiss me back. Kissing _you_, 'cause that's what it was all about, wasn't it, it was you, it's always been _you_."

Kurt's breath caught in his throat. He slithered closer to Dave.

"Other guys didn't even come close. But I wasn't _gay_, I wasn't, it was your fault, you and your goddamn pants, and your goddamn face, and how you fucking walked and talked and _yelled_ at me. I was _sick_ – but I wasn't gay." He shook his head, hands still over his eyes. "I could have punched you, y' know? When you came after me." He looked at Kurt desperately. "Shit, Kurt, why _did_ you? I'm built like fucking two and a half of you, the fuck were you even thinking?"

Blaine's name was on the tip of his tongue, but it would do more harm than good; Dave was already prejudiced enough against Blaine and he wouldn't see it the same way Kurt did. Blaine's intentions had been good – misguided but ultimately good, and Kurt could never resent him for that. He shrugged tentatively at David's probing expression.

"I mean, you're smart, you had to know nothing good could ever–" Dave sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall. "You got off so fucking easy, can you imagine if I didn't – if I didn't _like_ you, can you just –"

"Yes, _easy_. Just my first kiss with a boy, stolen by a Neanderthal who thought he was a huge freak for finding me attractive. No big deal," snapped Kurt, feeling conflicted.

Dave looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"Dave, I –"

"Why are you here, Kurt?" Dave was still facing his bookcase. "Why did you – God, tell me this isn't all some scheme to get back at me, please, I know I probably deserve it but, _fuck_, you're not cruel like that, you're –"

Kurt huffed and covered Dave's mouth with his hand.

"No, _this_ is to get back at you."

"Mmmngh?"

"Be _quiet_. You've said enough nonsense tonight to last you a year."

"Mnnf."

Kurt smiled in spite of himself at the resigned look in Dave's face. He bit his lip, making up his mind.

"Kurt? Kurt, what –" Dave gazed at him in amazement. "What are you –"

"Sshh, David." Kurt crawled on top of Dave's thighs, straddling them. He felt something jolt and roar inside him when his hands came to rest on Dave's chest and Dave's own hands, as if irresistibly attracted, settled back on his hips.

"But –"

"Is this _obvious_ enough for you?" Kurt leaned forward, letting his breath play over Dave's mouth. The boy's lips parted slightly and Kurt would have dived in for a fourth try, this time nothing barred if Dave hadn't chosen that moment to attempt at forming words.

"Wait."

"_Why_?" Kurt cringed at the whine, but really, why? Hadn't they circled around this enough, played enough catch to satisfy Dave's latent sadistic urges? He felt like a clichéd teenager in a clichéd teenage flick, overrun by hormones and frustration, but _Dave's mouth_.

'Cause I'm not drunk, Kurt, and if you want me to forget this tomorrow then you'd better leave right the fuck now."

Kurt backed away slightly, giving him a relieved smile.

"You _remember_."

Dave sighed heavily, his fingers rubbing jerky circles on Kurt's hips.

"Not something you just _forget_."

"But you were drunk," said Kurt quietly; he let his hands slide onto Dave's biceps.

"Not _that_ drunk," admitted Dave, ducking his head.

"You lied to me." Kurt grinned in delight. "To get laid over the phone. David Karofsky, you filthy _liar_."

"Yeah, well, next time _you_ try to have the guy _you_'re damn near obsessed with suggesting that he might let you talk dirty to him on the phone if only you promise not to remember anything the next day. See how well _you_ do."

Kurt's grin grew impossibly wider.

"You're obsessed with me?"

"_Nearly_."

"Semantics."

Dave shrugged, looking down.

"Sounds creepy."

Kurt hooked two fingers under his chin, making Dave face him.

"I'll take your kind of creepy anytime, David." He blushed m. "Not that I – I mean, this is not a free pass for you to start stealing my trash or –"

"The hell would I do with your trash?"

Kurt chuckled, able to keep his own happiness from bubbling out.

"That's a relief." Dave's expression sobered him immediately. "I'm not going anywhere, Dave," he whispered, growing shy. "Not when you want me here. Which – you do, don't you?"

"God, you're an idiot. I love you, okay, I fucking love you, so you –"

"You– you do?"

Dave slumped against the wall, pinching his nose.

"You're shitting me," he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Kurt lowered his eyes, fidgeting with the sleeves of Dave's sleep t-shirt.

"I fucking _told you_."

"But you wouldn't kiss me! And you never said it again after that second time, when you were _drunk_, so I thought –"

"What, that I had changed my mind when you're all I goddamn _think about_?" Dave shook his head in disbelief.

"You wouldn't tell me!"

"I fucking told you, alright? I thought you were – fuck, I thought you were jerking me around when you'd go all clueless on me."

"You thought – you really think I would do that?"

"Not on purpose, but you didn't want me to remember, so I –"

"You wouldn't say it, you wouldn't do _anything_!"

"I can't believe you." Dave snorted. "Learned my lesson, didn't I?"

"Huh?" Normally Kurt would have been worried at his own lack of articulation, but he had fled the realm of normalcy the minute he decided it would be a good idea to break into Dave's bedroom.

"You said… you probably don't remember, but you said you _knew_ I wouldn't kiss you, wouldn't do a thing to you if I thought you didn't want me to." Dave gave him a half-smile and shrugged once.

"I did?"

"Yeah."

Kurt's brow furrowed.

"You _have got_ to stop listening to me. It's obviously getting us nowhere."

Dave smiled fully at that, pulling the slighter boy a little closer.

"You trusted me, Fancy. I was gonna make damn sure you had no reason not to."

"By pushing me away?"

His indignation made David chuckle.

"Wasn't sure. Had to be sure, you wouldn't fucking _tell me_, I just needed one word, Kurt, just one fucking word."

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh, wincing at his own stupidity.

"Oh _god_. Oh god, David, I'm sorry, I didn't _know_ –"

"You're a fucking idiot."

"_Excuse me_?"

"Jesus, Fancy, I'm sorry, but you are." Dave slid his hands up and down Kurt's back, his voice thick with awe. "You had me. Shit, you _have _me, always, you fucking _idiot_."

Kurt pursed his lips in annoyance, starting to wiggle out of the bigger boy's lap; David chuckled deep in his throat and held him still. Kurt huffed and rolled his eyes; his hands were seemingly incapable of accomplishing any chore that did not involve immediate proximity to Dave's skin.

"I didn't come here to have my mental capacities insulted."

David grinned cheekily.

"Oh? What _did_ you come here for, then?"

Kurt could feel his resolve quake and crumble at the sheer happiness patent in Dave's face.

"I don't even know anymore. Maybe I should go." He felt the urge to slap himself over how feeble it sounded.

"Was it –" Dave's hands trailed up to cup his face gently, making Kurt sigh and shiver under his fingertips. "Was it this?" He pressed his thumb to Kurt's lips, parting them easily. Kurt's eyelashes fluttered almost involuntarily. "Kurt?"

Kurt exhaled shakily, nodding ever so slightly and trying not to dislodge either of Dave's hands.

"_Really_?"

How dare he. How dare the cave-dwelling, asinine, fashion-challenged, _stupid_ _boy_ tease him. Kurt E. Hummel was not someone to be played with lightly.

"Yes." His hand slipped to the back of David's neck, tugging hard on his hair. The jock swallowed, his hands hot and trembling on Kurt's face. Kurt leaned in, bringing his mouth close to Dave's ear. "So fucking _kiss me_."

The world turned upside down.

He was suddenly on his back on the bed; Dave's body was bent over his, with careful yet wonderfully _there_ pressure; his own hands were crushed between their bodies, clawing desperately at Dave's shirt; the jock had his face cradled in his hands, as if easing his grip would have made Kurt run out. And the best – the best was _Dave's mouth_ on his, Dave's wonderful, yielding, responsive lips against his, kissing back with the kind of desperate longing that would have had a lesser man running for the fire escape. But the past weeks had burned a mark deep within him, and it recognized David as both the tormentor and the savior – he had enough hunger coiled up inside to push up against Dave, giving back as good as he got.

It felt as if he could have shed his skin and flown out, weren't it for Dave's body, and Dave's hands and Dave's heated pants of '_Kurt, Kurt, Kurt_' every time they broke apart for air.

It was happening. Dreams, his own imagination – quite a capable one, at that – could not have prepared him for the physicality of the need he felt for Dave. Their kisses weren't anywhere near as skillful as the ones he'd had with Blaine; in fact, he seemed to have forgotten all technic as soon as Dave's mouth touched his. He was finally _not_ thinking, only _feelin_g_, _feeling that he couldn't possible go for a moment without the heat, the slickness of it, it was ludicrous to think so, so it was only natural he would chase Dave's lips whenever the other boy drew away with ragged breath, only natural he would whimper and writhe, letting Dave settle more comfortably between his legs, only natural that he would kiss and lick and nip down Dave's jawline, down the straining tendons of Dave's neck, over whatever patch of naked salty skin he could reach, rubbing his smoother face against the hint of growing stubble with a sort of happiness that had him positively giddy.

"Fuck, _Kurt_ –"

He hummed in agreement, settling on the spot where Dave's neck became shoulder and, finding that to be the tastiest, started mouthing it with intent.

"Jesus Christ, what are you even _doing _to me, _God_ –"

Kurt felt a giggle bubbling up his own throat, but it came out as a surprisingly deep moan when one of Dave's hands skimmed down to stroke over his ribcage with lovely pressure.

Then Dave shifted carefully, pulling away to lie on his back. Kurt felt as if he was freezing, despite the comfortable temperature in the room. He whimpered pitifully, reaching out to Dave with jerky fingers; Dave grabbed them and kissed his knuckles with a fervor that had Kurt's biting protests dying in his throat. He nibbled on his bottom lip as Dave just lay beside him with his eyes tightly shut, his broad chest heaving with raspy breaths, the back of Kurt's hand still pressed against his mouth.

"D-Dave?" He scooted closer to the larger boy, missing his warmth as if it were intrinsically part of him, but not daring to make any kind of bold move, not when Dave looked as if he would shatter at the slightest touch.

The boy's eyes half-opened. Maybe Kurt should blame the dimness of the room, but he could barely see the hazel around Dave's pupils. Dave's breath felt hot and eager on the sensitive skin of his knuckles.

"David? Did I –"

"Don't _even_, Jesus, because I know what you're gonna ask, and it's crazy, and you're an idiot, and I'm gonna feel the need to prove you wrong and I don't think I can, not without seriously embarrassing myself," rushed out Dave in one breath, intertwining his fingers with Kurt's and nuzzling their joined hands.

"What do you mean you –" Dave looked down pointedly, and then up again. Kurt's eyes widened and he became fully aware of being in bed with a _boy_ – and not just any boy, but the one he kept falling for harder and harder, always thinking there would – because there _should_ – be a limit to how deep he could get into it, but there never was, not with David making it his personal mission to surpass each of Kurt's expectations by _miles_.

His mouth suddenly became very dry: he was _hard_. Not just aroused, but definitely hard – as in he would have made a mess in his pants without even knowing what hit him, because he would have been too lost in _Dave_ and the amazingness of what was happening. He swallowed, feeling breathless when he saw the matching tent of fabric on Dave's own pajama bottoms.

_Oh_.

A sound that was half snort and half sniffle suddenly escaped him. Dave turned his head to face him, surprised. Kurt snorted again.

"Fancy?" The tone was cautious, increasing Kurt's amusement tenfold.

"S-sorry." He was sniggering now, his chest wracked with repressed laughter. "This – it's _surreal_, I just – god, David, stop making that face, I'm not demented–"

"That's really up for debate, Fancy," but he was starting to smile, and then he was full on _grinning_, and in seconds they were both cackling like schoolchildren just discovering potty humor.

It took them a total of five minutes to sober up effectively without breaking down in laughter at the mere sight of each other's faces. Kurt was infinitely glad for having attempted this breaking and entering act while Dave was actually alone in the house.

"So. You're gonna tell me what the fuck got into you tonight and why the hell didn't it happen sooner? Like, you know, before I was driving myself crazy enough to believe you weren't real." Dave sat up, pulling Kurt into his lap again. Kurt's heartbeat sped up at the casualness of it all until he saw the hesitancy shadowing Dave's face. He rolled his eyes and brought their clasped hands to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Dave's palm. Dave flushed at that, looking absurdly pleased.

"Finn," Kurt answered simply, gazing at the hint of chest hair peeking from under Dave's collar.

"_Hudson_?"

"And Blaine." He suppressed a smirk at Dave's cross expression. "_And_ Rachel. They all got into me. Quite a debauched emotional party we had."

Dave's frown melted as he gave Kurt a lopsided smile.

"Sounds _fun_."

"To you, maybe." Kurt sighed. "I think I was at great risk of eventually losing every friend I had in the world." Dave made a questioning noise. "They were getting a little sick of me moping around because of you."

"You _moped_? Because of _me_? _Why_?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Dave gave him a look.

"I told you already. God, Dave, this past _weeks_, I kept giving you the _sign_, I gave you barrels of signs, I practically _presented_ myself to you, and you. _You_." He poked Dave's shoulder with his finger. "You did nothing."

"_Signs_? What signs?"

Kurt almost bit him. He was in close proximity of Dave's earlobe now, and gore could have happened.

He was _so_ good.

"I serenaded you. With _'Kiss Me_'." Kurt pursed his lips into a haughty pout, which rapidly melted when Dave bent his head to mouth wetly at his collarbone.

"Not _helping_," he hissed, squirming. "And you – you didn't – I guess your _essay_ was more attention worthy than me," he finished lamely, unable to stop from swaying in Dave's lap, pressing shamelessly against him while still keeping their crotches at a cautious distance.

Dave chuckled against his skin and nipped it playfully, making Kurt's self-control snap. His hips bucked against Dave's, which in turn had the very satisfying result of a strong arm tightening around his waist. Dave was suddenly gasping hot and fast against the side of his neck.

_There_.

"You _are_ an idiot," the other boy hissed, nuzzling Kurt's jaw and taking long calming breaths.

"You keep saying that."

"You _are_."

"Why?"

Dave looked up from where he had latched on Kurt's skin, and the singer took the opportunity to pull him into a sloppy kiss that had more tongue than lips, that was more biting and licking than actually _kissing_, but for Kurt there had never been anything more glorious. They had let go of each other's hands in synch, and Dave's own seemed to be everywhere at once, caressing and kneading and stroking Kurt's entire body, as if he couldn't get enough of Kurt. If Kurt had enough control he would just lie back and let himself enjoy it, but that proved to be impossible seeing as he himself had _Dave_'s own body at his disposal.

Dave was the first to pull away again; had Kurt been with anyone _else_ he would feel downright shameful for being so forward, but Dave was looking at him with such naked want that he couldn't bring himself to care one lick.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Hummel," sighed David, running his restless hands up and down Kurt's thighs, keeping careful distance of Kurt's obvious erection. For a moment Kurt almost gave in to his ever-present insecurity that maybe Dave was actually uncomfortable with all of this, with the pressing reminder of Kurt's very _male_ equipment. But then Dave looked down with hungry eyes, licking his lips and swallowing, and Kurt had to be the one to back away before he permanently embarrassed himself.

He really should have put on jeans. He had been hoping to make a statement, not only to Dave but also to himself, but cotton pajamas? _Not_ practical.

Dave cleared his throat, looking up with a distinct flush. Kurt smiled and shrugged sympathetically, intertwining their fingers again. Dave looked at their joined hands dazedly.

"So… essay? I hope my laying myself down emotionally was inspiring."

Dave barked a laugh at that and then playfully nudged Kurt away until his legs were free. Kurt stared at him in hurt confusion when Dave bent and twisted his body to get to the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Kurt, smirking all the while.

Kurt quirked one eyebrow but complied, straining to read in the dim light of the small lamp.

He frowned, sure he must be reading wrong. Or maybe Dave had grabbed the wrong papers, and these weren't the ones Kurt had seen him shove in the drawer the week before.

"Dave?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Are you sure –"

"_Read_."

The papers were covered in Dave's firm and highly characteristic handwriting – but there was not a word dealing with Puritanism. Kurt's mouth gaped open slightly. In fact, as far as he could tell, there were only a total of five different words repeated time and time again. 'Fuck' had a healthy share of the page, as did 'kiss me', but the top rated were 'Fancy' and 'Kurt', which appeared in interrupted chains that took up solid blocks of text.

"Felt liked killing my mom when she mentioned it. She _knew_ I'd already done it, but I needed the excuse. Was hoping you would stay a little longer if you thought I still needed help with it."

Kurt's eyes prickled as he remembered his own pain at Dave's apparent indifference; and now there was the second-hand suffering at the thought of Dave sitting where they were now, scribbling down Kurt's name over and over and _over_.

"I didn't know." Dave's voice was soft. "You were singing, and singing _that_ song, and I wanted it to be for me, Fancy, I wanted it so fucking much." He raked his free hand through his hair, sighing. "But you know what they say about assuming. For all I knew, it was random."

"Honestly, David. Nothing is _that_ random."

"Hey, I was a little suspicious when you said 'kilt', butyou weren't even looking at me. Can't really blame a guy."

Kurt huffed, rolling his eyes.

"It was 'Kiss Me'. I shouldn't have needed to sing along, even."

Dave grinned, shaking his head.

"Emotionally constipated, right?" He reached out to straighten the collar of Kurt's shirt, his fingers lingering over Kurt's collarbone. "Besides, you seemed pretty focused on your math homework, too."

Kurt's eyebrows met his hairline.

"You _saw_ my calculations."

"Yeah, but – wait." Dave stared at him in disbelief. "_Wait_. You did that on _purpose_?"

"Those equations were _hard _and I was a little busy serenading your ungrateful ass." He poked Dave again. "I wasn't even trying to get them right. I have many talents, but that kind of multi-tasking isn't really in my range."

"You can serenade my ass anytime, Fancy," said Dave, his leer making Kurt scoff. "No, seriously. You faked the whole thing? Your questions, and the results and the –"

"I'm not exactly what you would call academically challenged, David."

"Not even at math?"

"Nope. I mean, I'm no genius, either, or a freaky closet math geek like _some_, but –" Kurt blushed. "Actually, I think we had the same idea. I didn't want you kicking me out as soon as your mother was sick of me."

"Oh, thank God," Dave breathed out in relief. "I mean, I was _scared_," he clarified when Kurt raised one eyebrow. "Never thought I would be shallow enough to fall for a guy just because he looked smoking hot in a pair of jeans." He chuckled and ducked when Kurt swatted at him.

"Hum. Well, it's nice to know you have good taste in at least _one _thing."

Dave nodded in agreement, still obviously amused, then collected the papers Kurt had set on the bed and turned away to place them back in his drawer.

Kurt hesitated. On one hand, there was nothing he wanted more than to slide back into Dave's lap and resume their earlier actions.

But.

It was as if all his courage had concentrated on getting to this room, to this bed, to _Dave_. Dave's back was still turned to him as he put his papers away, and Kurt could feel his resolve ebbing away, deprived of Dave's arms around him, of Dave's solid warmth under him.

He felt the bed dipping, startling him out of his reverie.

"Hum. So, where were we?"

Kurt's head snapped up; Dave was grinning at him broadly, leaning casually against the headboard. Kurt swallowed thickly at the sudden shock of desire that ran through his entire body.

"What are you still doing over there?" Dave's brow furrowed in confusion. "_Come here._"

If Kurt was still in possession of a semi-functioning brain he would have been amazed at how he had managed not to break his neck with how quickly he lunged himself at Dave.

The other boy let out a surprised chuckle but caught him deftly, tightening strong hands around Kurt's waist and pulling him closer.

"David…" breathed Kurt, his hands trembling as they made their way down Dave's broad back. His erection twitched in a painful remainder; Dave seemed to be having the same issue, watching Kurt with heated eyes.

"I don't want to…" He hid his face in Dave's shoulder. "I know we're alone, and we kind of already crossed a few lines that one time, but –"

"Y'know, if you think you can come here with all that 2 a.m. romantic crap just to take advantage of me, then you're dead wrong." Dave grinned into Kurt's hair. "Kurt, I know, okay? Fuck, tonight I fell asleep thinking we were done for sure, and that I'd never hear your voice again, much less see you. This… honestly, I don't think I can handle anything more than just kissing right now. Which, by the way, _awesome_."

Kurt chuckled, pressing his lips to the side of David's neck lazily and lingering there, breathing hotly. The other boy whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"And that kinda goes a long way to change my mind, so you might wanna hold up on it."

They sighed heavily in unison, breaking apart. Kurt knew he had issues with personal space, being at the same time wary of contact and very much touch-starved. Blaine had been the first boy he was allowed to get close to without trepidation, but _this_. If he didn't take care, he would end up actively molesting Dave one day. The only thing keeping him from recoiling in dreadful mortification was the both visual and palpable proof that Dave was not faring any better.

He shifted his legs so that he was no longer straddling Dave but sitting astride him, knees bent over Dave's right leg, careful not to bump into _anything_ and worsen their problem.

"I'm really, really sorry, David." He locked his arms around his –

No, he was _not_ getting into _that _so soon.

"What for?" David frowned.

"Oh, god. Where to begin." He looked up for inspiration amidst the darkened ceiling. "Not telling you about Blaine, I guess. Oh, but I did that already."

"Doesn't hurt," said Dave playfully. "Hold on. When did you do it? Break up with him, I mean."

Kurt blushed violently and looked down, mumbling.

"Huh?"

"The day after that time when you – when you told me about seeing me in the locker room." He gnawed on his bottom lip when he saw Dave's stunned expression.

"You _what_."

"I _had_ to, after that."

"_Why_?"

"Because I – god, Dave, don't judge me, I –" He swallowed. "The things you _said_. You can't just go around saying things like that to people."

Dave's brow furrowed as he stared at Kurt.

"Not following."

Kurt buried his burning face in his hands.

"I might have had to… take care of a little problem, after."

"What do you mean, take –" Dave cut himself short, eyes widening in shock. "_Oh_." He took Kurt's hands into his own. Kurt gulped, seeing the color rising high in Dave's cheeks and how glassy and unfocused his eyes were becoming. "I thought you were _mad_ at me."

"Believe me, I was the farthest from mad I could ever be."

"I couldn't even – I didn't even have the _nerve_ to call you, Kurt. Christ. And you were – you were doing _that_?"

Kurt nodded miserably.

"And you broke up with Bland –"

"Oh, so we're back at Bland, hum?"

Dave shrugged, still looking a bit delirious.

"You're not going back to him. Don't have to be nice."

"I'm not, am I?" said Kurt, with just a hint of teasing.

Dave shook himself, narrowing his eyes.

"_No_. Not as long as I have a say in the matter, anyway."

"And do you?" Kurt knew he was testing his luck.

"Do I?" threw Dave back, challenging and just the teeniest bit unsure.

Kurt relented and kissed him softly, drawing back before they got in trouble again.

"Take that as a 'hell yes', please," he whispered breathlessly across Dave's lips. Dave nodded, leaning his forehead against Kurt's.

Kurt was the first to break the easy silence.

"Dave?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"I'm sorry about not kissing you sooner."

Dave smiled, bringing his hand up to cup Kurt's cheek gently.

"'S alright."

"It's just – you stopped saying _stuff_, and I –"

"Thought you didn't want me to."

"Why wouldn't I? Even if I didn't feel _anything_ for you – which, obviously, _I do_ –" He was cut off when Dave pressed a urgent kiss to his lips. "I – hum – what?"

"You were saying how annoyingly irresistible you find me."

Kurt gave him a deeply unimpressed look, quickly spoiled by his own pleased sigh when Dave's thumb brushed over his cheekbones.

"Anyway. Everyone likes to be told nice things, don't they?"

"Yeah, but when we… when I was drunk –"

Kurt groaned, banging his head against Dave's shoulder.

"_Don't_. I already feel like enough of an idiot, thank you."

"Good. You are."

"Uhgh."

"Fancy, you didn't _want_ me to remember."

"I _did_." Kurt bit his lip. "I was so mad at you for not remembering."

"You could have said _something_."

"I'd never – god, you know I had never done anything like that. I felt so embarrassed."

Dave scoffed.

"Yeah? What about me? Not like I had that much experience, either."

Kurt's mouth dropped open.

"But… Santana –"

"I couldn't." Dave made a face. "Physically, you know. Tried thinking of you, 'cause that always works, but then her boobs kinda _jiggled_ in my face and I lost it."

Kurt let out a shocked laugh.

"I'm guessing she wasn't all that enthused by you, either." He smiled coyly, half-astounded at his new self-empowerment, and raked his nails down Dave's chest. "What a waste."

Dave swallowed and grabbed his hands reluctantly, chuckling at his pout.

"Tease," he whispered affectionately. "But, yeah. Thought you wanted me to stop." He spread his hands. "So I did."

"_Uhgh_. You made me think you had changed your mind. Or that I was just a safe target. Or –"

"Fucking _idiot."_

"_Stop it_."

"_You_ stop it."

Having no comeback, Kurt settled for latching onto David's lips again, which were fast becoming an object of obsession. They kissed slowly and sensibly, or as sensibly as they could in their matching half-dazed states.

Kurt broke the kiss to lavish some attention on his second favorite spot just under Dave's jaw. The other boy groaned when Kurt licked at his pulse point, and his hands slid down Kurt's sides to pause momentarily at his waist. When Kurt drew back, breathing over the spot he had just been laving with his tongue, Dave's hips snapped up, almost of their own accord, and his hands jumped and fell to Kurt's ass, kneading with aching urgency. The temperature seemed to increase in the room; Kurt felt his cock twitching painfully, and he wanted nothing more than to push back into Dave's hands, or push forward, or just –

"We need to stop," he gasped, the firm grip he had around Dave's neck preventing them from doing just so.

"I know," panted the other boy, his mouth searching for Kurt's.

"No, we –" Kurt bucked up, desperate for just a hint of friction. "We _have_ to, Dave, we-"

"Fuck, baby –"

"_Fuck_!"

Kurt jerked back as if shocked, scurrying out of Dave's reach, his mind reeling with how close to losing control he had actually been. He was still seeing spots, his vision slightly blurred around the edges. Dave was looking a little distorted, his concerned face swimming among black and purple dots.

"Kurt?"

"Shut up, shut up, Dave, I'm sorry but please don't say anything, _god_ –" He sucked in a long breath, repeating Rachel's mantra to himself.

_One in… one out… one fucking in… one fucking out…_

Dave was apparently either too annoyed or too worried to protest, for which Kurt would give grace, if grace was something he normally gave.

_One in… I'm gonna kill him… one out… one in… it __**hurts**__… one out…_

His breathing evened out and his vision began to focus, little by little. Dave was still staring at him, not having moved an inch since Kurt's meltdown.

"This is all your fault, you know," he said, smiling shakily.

"_The fuck_?"

Kurt waved down at his middle, letting his other hand come up to cover half his face dramatically. Dave sniggered, making him scowl.

"_Hilarious_, David."

"'S a little bit funny."

"This particular feeling inside was about to become very much _out_ all over you. I'd like to see you laughing then."

Dave licked his lips, an intense look in his eyes.

"Don't think I would have laughed," he muttered hoarsely.

Kurt gulped and looked away, willing his blood to regain its normal course, far away from both his cheeks and his crotch.

"Hey." David started inching towards him, as if Kurt were a wild animal. Predictably, Kurt drew back even more. "Kurtie..."

Kurt eyed the larger boy haughtily.

"Don't try to sweet talk me, David Karofsky." He caught the flash of the alarm clock out of the corner of his eye. "I should go," he whispered regretfully, all traces of mock anger dispersed.

Dave slumped back, nodding faintly.

"_Dave_."

"No, I know, Fancy." He spread his hands between them, smiling crookedly. "Like, I know you should. But I really don't want you to."

Kurt sighed.

"Believe me, neither do I."

"You could, hum –" Dave looked down. "You could stay tonight, and go home tomorrow before your folks woke up." He shrugged. "I'd even sleep on the floor, if you –"

"Today _is_ tomorrow, David." He waved at the alarm clock. "Besides, that would defeat the principle."

"Of sneaking out?"

"Exactly."

Dave shook his head incredulously.

"But you might not get caught. People don't pay that much attention to car noises in the morning as they do at night."

"I still won't. My dad sleeps heavier in the wee hours, and if Carole won't wake up with his snoring, she definitely won't wake up with my baby's soft, healthy purr."

"Your baby." Kurt smirked at Dave's appalled deadpan.

"It's useless to get jealous, David. She'll always be first in my heart."

"Your car is a girl? You sure you're gay?"

Kurt reached forward, grabbing Dave by the back of his neck and kissing him slow and a little dirty, in a way that had David panting long before it was over.

"Yep. 100% gay," Kurt assured him, pulling away and licking his lips greedily.

"Same here. Fuck. I'm not gonna ask where you learned to do that, 'cause I so don't wanna know."

Kurt shrugged airily, not wanting to let in how he had basically been improvising and that however incredible Blaine's kisses were technic-wise, they didn't inspire him a tenth as much as Dave's did.

Dave made a face but let it pass and got up, yawning as he stretched his arms. Kurt watched as the muscles twisted and craned beneath the thin dark fabric of David's shirt, noticing the stripe of tanned skin over Dave's hipbone and coloring deeply when Dave caught him looking. Instead of smirking and making the expected crude remark, he smiled abashedly, holding his hand out to help Kurt up. The singer took it eagerly, putting more impulse than required behind his movement, causing him to accidentally-on-purpose crash into Dave.

"Hi," he murmured, exceedingly fond of movie clichés for once.

Dave laughed quietly and grabbed him by the waist, drawing Kurt close for another kiss.

And then another, because Kurt was sighing so prettily, and Dave wanted more of that.

And then another, because Dave couldn't keep from whimpering pathetically when Kurt's tongue brushed the roof of his mouth.

And then they were back to groping and licking and _biting_, writhing against each other, and it stung like the bite of a pack of rabid dogs when Kurt had to pull away after the front of their pants brushed ever so slightly. Their needy breathing mingled as they stood still, leaning their foreheads together.

"We're going to die from this, aren't we?" asked Kurt close to despair.

"You know, I thought the worst thing was being so damn close to you and _not_ having you, but –" His smile was pained. "I didn't know _shit_."

"You're telling _me_." Kurt backed away two steps, feeling like crying at the crestfallen look on Dave's face. "Come on, Hammock. Walk me to the door?" He smirked teasingly, steeling himself in order to not shove Dave onto the bed and have his wickedest way with his –

_Not going there_.

Dave laughed, his eyes brighter than Kurt had seen them in… _ever_.

_You did that_.

He was sure his heart was swelling, biology be damned.

"Let's go, Lady-boy." Dave's answering smirk was anxious, his tone unsure on the insult. Kurt cocked his head, hooking one finger over the drawstring of Dave's pants and pulling him close; his whole hand was tingling at the heady feel of Dave's skin _there_.

"You're pretty cocky for a guy who was ogling my _not_-lady-parts not ten minutes ago." He felt insanely proud for keeping his blush down when Dave got flustered and looked away, lips twitching. "Shall we?" He tugged on Dave's hand, pointing to the door. The taller boy mock-curtsied, trailing behind Kurt and trying to be discreet about watching his ass move under the soft fabric.

They made their way through the wall stealing kisses every two steps; muffling their laughter for they knew not what reason.

Before they reached the front door, Dave halted.

"Wanna meet Willy? My dad brought him back three days ago, they had to operate." He grimaced. "Got like, a two hour lecture about keeping small things out of his reach. Fucking dog should know better by now, but _no_."

Kurt looked back at him, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I don't know, David. Animals don't seem to like me much." He paused, considering. "Though some like me _too_ much. Like my Mercedes' poodle. He did unspeakable things to my leg before anyone could pry him off."

"Classy dog. Good taste, too." Dave grabbed Kurt's hand as the smaller boy went to slap his arm in revenge and took the opportunity to dive in for another mutual kiss-stealing session.

"Mmmgh, _David_ –"

Dave groaned in agreement, pulling back with a pained frown. Kurt gave him a half-smile of commiseration.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "He's pretty out of it, still. Gotta have him on pain-killers till Monday." He looked Kurt over. "Good thing, too, or he'd probably knock you over."

"Hey!"

"He almost knocks _me _over, Fancy, the dog's a menace."

"Hmpf."

Dave chuckled and pushed open the double glass-panned doors to the living room.

"Willy? C'mon boy," he called softly into the dark room.

Kurt heard rustling, and sure enough there was a blur of light yellow fur running towards Dave's outstretched hand, its tail wagging behind frenetically.

"This is 'out of it'?" Kurt couldn't keep the dread out of his voice.

"Pretty much." Dave laughed at his horrified expression and bent down to scratch the panting dog behind the ears. It was a healthy-looking Labrador, Kurt decided, a bit _too_ large and tall, but with a clumsy, foolish look about him that he couldn't help but smile at.

"Any other time he'd be slobbering and pawing all over you."

"_Ew_."

"Just for the first five minutes, or so. He gets a little… over-excited. Fucking terrible watch-dog, would probably make BFFs out of the burglars."

Kurt hummed, and reached down cautiously, wincing when the dog's wet nose bumped his knuckles. He attempted to recoil when it started to lick his fingers but Dave held his wrist gently.

"There, just – it's okay, see?" He chuckled at Kurt's grimace. "You never had a dog, did you?"

"My dad's allergic. I wanted one when I was little, and when I wouldn't stop whining about it he told be about hair-shedding season and dog spit. It lost its appeal entirely." He petted the dog's head absentmindedly. "Thinking back, that was quite Machiavellian of him."

David nodded and reached up to tuck in a strand of Kurt's hair. The dog surged forward, nudging him away from the smaller boy. He smirked knowingly.

"Hey, Willy, it's fine, Kurt's a – The _fuck_? You little –" he spluttered when it became clear by Willy's dropping to the floor to let Kurt scratch his belly that it wasn't _Dave_ he had been trying to protect. "You gotta be _shitting_ me, not _you_ too!"

Kurt suppressed a chuckle at Dave's fuming and crouched down to oblige the dog, careful to steer far from the line of stiches lower on his belly.

"I'm surrounded by traitors. I mean, first my sister, then my mom and now _my fucking dog_."

"Well, you keep calling him names."

"He ate my _phone_! What, next my dad's gonna take _you_ on Take Your Child To Work Day, _Jesus_." Dave leaned against the wall, shaking his head in amazement.

"But he's such a good boy. Aren't you? Yes, you are," cooed Kurt, partly to annoy Dave and partly because the dog _was_ adorable – at least once one got over the large paws and permanently gaping mouth filled with mean looking teeth.

"Shoot me now." Dave smacked his forehead. "Wanna move in?"

"Only if you let me sleep in your bed." Kurt's eyes widened in shock as the hand not rubbing Willy's fur slapped over his mouth. Dave made a choking sound – then a brilliant grin started taking over his face. He searched Kurt's face with a half-hopeful, half-disbelieving look, making it impossible for Kurt to look away, despite the way his face had violently flushed.

"You got yourself a deal," whispered Dave, his voice thick.

Kurt nodded airily, trying to bite back the smile stretching his lips.

Willy nuzzled the hand he had let drop. He shook his head at the dog, resuming the petting.

"Little bit of an attention-whore, isn't he?"

"Takes one to know one, Fancy." Dave winked.

Kurt quirked up one eyebrow but let it go, fully committed to securing Willy's undivided loyalty.

"Ugh, stop it. He's just gonna follow you home and get you busted with his lovesick howling outside your window."

Kurt started at the mention of his imminent grounding and got up with one last scratch behind the dog's ears. Willy rolled over and sat back on his hind legs, looking up at Kurt with pitiful eyes, tail still sweeping the floor rhythmically. Kurt made a small 'aww' noise.

"He _likes_ me."

"What a fucking surprise. Traitor," Dave grumbled at the dog.

"_David_."

"Next thing you're gonna say you like _him_ better."

Kurt leaned against him, backing the taller boy into the wall. He hooked one arm around Dave's neck and dropped his other hand to the boy's hip, relishing Dave's thrilled surprise.

"What's gotten _into_ you?" Dave eyed him warily, the corners of his mouth twitching nonetheless.

"I honestly have no idea," confessed Kurt with an anxious chuckle.

"I like it," said Dave simply, tilting his head and brushing their mouths together. Their eyes were still open, taking in each other. Kurt's tongue slid slowly over his bottom lip. "I _love_ it," he groaned, pulling Kurt flush against him and deepening the kiss. Kurt's hand clenched on his hip; Dave's right one slid down teasingly, fingertips stroking the skin above the waistband of Kurt's pants.

Suddenly a cold nose was sniffling at his exposed ankle, a smooth head of fur butting at his leg, trying to pry him off.

"The _hell_, Willy."

Kurt muffled his laughter in Dave's chest and took the chance to breath in Dave's scent discreetly.

"I can't get a fucking break, Jesus." Dave wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist, dislodging from the wall and pointing at the darkened living room. "_Go_," he said to Willy, nudging him with his foot.

"David!"

"No, _you_ don't get to take his side, not _ever_, Fancy." He nudged the dog again. "Or else you can go make out with him."

Kurt grumbled at his side, snippets of 'Caveman' and 'stupid jock with stupid lips' reaching Dave's ears and making him smirk.

Willy finally relented, casting the pair one last pathetic look before Dave pulled the door shut.

Kurt glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall by the door, wincing.

"It's four. How is it four?" Dave shrugged and bent to kiss his neck. "David!"

"_Busy_." Kurt shuddered when he felt Dave's stubbly chin rubbing over his collarbone. "You taste so fucking good, Christ, how do you taste so good?"

"I – ugh, Dave – cream and almond – _oh_ – body cream –" He felt Dave grinning against his neck.

"Fucking delicious," he growled. Kurt gripped his shoulders tighter, feeling his knees give out further at every lap of Dave's tongue on the hollow of his throat.

"Dave, the _time_," he whined, pushing up against the other boy.

"Fuck time."

Kurt sniggered immaturely, pulling away.

"I demand a minimum of three extended, _creative_ dates before we even get to that point, _buddy_."

Dave's brow creased and then smoothed as he grinned and shook his head.

"Well, we went for that movie. And then we totally had a study-date." He paused. "Does tonight count, too?"

Kurt lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

"First, you made perfectly clear that _that_ was no date."

"I thought you –"

"And you dismissed my serenade on our 'study-date'."

"I _told _you –"

"And tonight doesn't count, because I did all the work." He tilted his head, smirking. "So."

"You're a real piece of work, huh?"

"You like it."

"Got me there." Dave's fingers reached out to play with Kurt's shirtsleeve. "You sure you want to go?"

Kurt sighed morosely.

"Not really a question of _wanting_." He grabbed Dave's hand, loving the feel of it in his. "Can I call you when I get home? I don't want to rob you of anymore sleep, but…" He trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Dave gave him a look, cradling his face with his free hand and kissing him forcefully. They parted a long moment after with matching obnoxiously sappy smiles.

It took them longer than it should have to finally open the front door. Kurt stooped down for a second to graze his hand against the red handprint, ignoring Dave's disbelieving snort.

They kissed in the silent, pitch-black night.

By the entryway.

Halfway down Dave's driveway.

Two cars behind Kurt's Navigator.

They kissed the second to last time with Kurt's back pressed against the door of his car, blessing the insanely late/early hour for giving them no witnesses.

They kissed the last time with Dave's head being pulled in through the window by a pale, half-naked arm.

Dave watched as Kurt drove off slowly, almost reluctantly. He bit his still tingling lips, breathing in the dewy air.

Ten minutes after he had lied down again, stirring restlessly on the sheets that he was probably only imagining smelt like Kurt, his phone rang.

* * *

><p>"David, <em>sleep<em>."

"Can't. This _guy_ broke into my house, went all Jedi mind-trick on my dog and practically _molested_ me. Feeling sorta jittery, if you know what I mean. And he keeps calling, too."

"Oh, _please_. You were asking for it."

"Not gonna go far with that lame-ass excuse, Fancy. They're on to you."

"They?"

"My imaginary cop buddies."

"Will you visit me in imaginary prison?"

"Conjugal visits?"

"I'll have to show off my hot boyfriend to the imaginary inmates, make the most of all those gay slurs."

"… boyfriend?"

"…"

"Kurt?"

"That was just… an expression, I –"

"… oh. Okay."

"Oh, god. No, it _wasn't_. We need to stop doing this, David. Do you – would you like to –"

"Be your boyfriend?"

"… yes?"

"Fuck _yes_."

"Oh, classy."

"You want class, just go back to Bland."

"Really?"

"… no. But, _fuck_, Kurt, you know me, I –"

"Class is overrated, David."

"Hum."

"So, are we – _why_ is this so hard, honestly – are we _together_?"

"If you think you can just come into my room, use me like _that_ and _not_ commit, you're dead wrong."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you? Dress like a slut, get treated like a slut."

"… okay, not following."

"Please, that _t-shirt_. Those _pants_."

"_Seriously_?"

"Hmpf."

"You're a sick little puppy, Fancy."

"You love it."

"Yes."

"I –"

"You know, now would be a good time for you to play that game where you pretend to get naked while on the phone with me and I pretend not to pass out."

"What?"

"Tell me you didn't _really_ get naked, I thought you were just screwing with my head."

"Pray tell me what do you find so appalling about my getting naked, David, because I'm not getting it. You seemed to be supportive of the idea just half an hour ago."

"It's kinda the complete opposite, actually."

"You practically made me swear I wouldn't dare to get undressed when I was leaving your house last week."

"Because I didn't know you – _hold on_. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_, just goddamn _hold_ _on_ a second there."

"_What_?"

"Tell me, Kurt. Tell me you got mad at me for some stupid-ass thing I said. Tell me you were sick of my face. _Don't _tell me you told me not to call you and then didn't talk to me for a _week_ because you thought I wouldn't want to imagine you naked."

"…"

"I'm in love with a fucking idiot."

"…"

"I mean, _seriously_. _Seriously_?"

"…"

"You've got no idea, do you? No goddamn clue. Fuck, if I could, you'd be naked twenty-four seven, and locked up in my room."

"…"

"Or maybe not, 'cause, you know, my brain could use the blood one time or another. Y'know, to prevent dying."

"…"

"Fancy? I can hear you breathing, don't be a creep."

"Oh _god_, David –"

"What? What did I say?"

"You – you're – I just wanna drive back and _kiss you stupid_."

"Hum. Not stopping you."

"Uhgh. I'll hang up now. There's a pressing matter requiring my immediate attention."

"You _have got_ to be kidding me."

"Don't even go there, this is your fault entirely."

"Might as well just do the naked thing again. _Christ_, you fucking _tease_. I can't even –"

"Crap, I heard a noise. I really have to go now."

"Yeah, a _noise_. I bet. You could at least let me… hear you."

"David!"

"What? Not like it's a first."

"Yes, but you were drunk and I was –"

"Yeah?"

"Stop _smirking_. I think it might have been the heat."

"Uh-huh."

"_Bye_, David. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Don't."

"… o-okay, I thought you would want to–"

"Come over tomorrow."

"_Oh_. Why don't _you_ come over?"

"Hudson?"

"… good point."

"So?"

"We'll see."

"_Fancy_ –"

"Bye!"

"I – _bye_."

"…"

"Shit."

"…"

"I'm _fucked_."

"…"

"…"

* * *

><p>Author's Note 2.0: ONE THING I'VE JUST NOW REALIZED: Kurt's breaking and entering into Dave's house has been mentioned in earlier chapters – leave me to marvel at my capacity for continuity while being completely oblivious to it.<p> 


	16. Every Time That We Meet

**A/N: **IT IS HERE. And about time , too, I'm a liar who lies, and a smiled procrastinator and I'll never again set dates for my updates as I clearly can't commit to them. This is closure to the beginning of their relationship that I felt the fic needed, hence the shortness. This part is complete; but I have already eight sequels planned out (you guys asked for sequels, you're gonna get sequels, and get sick of sequels and I'll be all *evil laugh* 'Have more sequels, here, here!'), and who knows how many more will crop up. Initially, it was 'Who Said Anything(…)' that was supposed to become a 'verse, and this was only writer's block therapy… well. It's the phone!verse, now.

- Shameless use of this half-assed epilogue to answer directly to some of my most relentless reviewers who fill my days with sunlight, double-rainbows, baby unicorns, Chris Colfer's eyes, Max Adler's smile and Darren Criss's hair:

** Threeoctopusesandanotter: **"FUCKING FINALLY!" Right on. The UST was giving me ulseras. "but now when they fight they can make up and have hot make out sessions" You don't know how happy that makes me! Because now Dave can just kiss Kurt when he starts over-analyzing stuff, and Kurt can kiss Dave when he starts being insecure about stuff, and when they're mad they can just kiss AND STUFF, so I'm pretty fucking thrilled about everything I'll be writing from now on.

Well, this isn't spectacular by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm definitely bringing my A-game on the next installment of the verse =D

** dorydafish: **YOU BEAUTIFUL PERSON YOU. Just so you know, I'm probably one of your creepiest stalkers on Tumblr; all that you wrote as a twist on 'First Time' (I keep re-reading the Dave-as-Blaine piece during the Lima Bean scene, it's magnificent and a carbon-print of exactly how I imagine it would have gone with Dave!), all that, I just… *bows to your genius* Enough of my stalkerish fanfgirling, now.

THANK YOU SO MUCH, THERE ARE NO WORDS, YOUR REVIEWS ARE… GOD, every writer should have one reviewer like you, because you GET IT, and react exactly like I want people to react and… again, speechlessness.

Me updating cannot make you as happy as your reviews make me, seriously. Have my camels, my best sheep, and my prized pig, they're yours, all yours, and you deserve them all and MORE.

** The Raisin Girl :** I LIVE for my readers' happiness! Kurt and Dave be damned, _YOU _MATTER! "Can I just say, if we were ever lucky enough to get Kurtofsky in canon, I would NEED it to be Kurt who initiated it." It would have to be him, I don't think Dave would have the guts to go for it again, not after NBK and all that he did to Kurt, I really don't. But at the same time, I need Kurt to know for sure that Dave wants him, that he is a 'first choice' even if Dave doesn't make a move.

** awkward innuendo: **"D'aw the thought of Dave calling Kurt "baby" and searching for Kurt's mouth just makes my heart gush, so freaking hot and intimate and adorable and raw and oh! oh! Incoherency has taken over now." God, you are gonna make me cry. I love/hate writing kisses, because I have this picture in my head, and the feelings, and I want to write it down but I can't, it always feels forced and fumbling, so this that you wrote was so exactly what I needed, it's crazy. "there is nothing really left too add except smut...which I am TOTALLY NOT against!" I certainly hope not, because I need to get them off. I'm pretty sure people can die from this sort of prolonged frustration. "Also that I still maintain that I love you. To quote Blaine "you...move me." :P" You… you…you… WORDS, WHEREFORE ART THOU, WORDS?

** SingingWrenn :** I heard 'Cut Me Up, Jenny' and WHOA. Thank you so, so, so much; I have this tendency to associate Kurtofsky to every single song I listen to, but 'that was beautiful' *insert Darren gif here, please*.

And thank you, AGAIN, for giving this a try! I've shipped so many people with Kurt before Dave, and I used to _hate_ Kurtofsky, way, way back, after NBK, when I was terrified of it. But I've been on the pirate ship foes so long now that I hardly now what it is to want 'anything other than Kurtofsky' endgame. That being said, I ship Klaine friendship _hard_ (as you can probably tell).

"I find keeping people in character while they're speaking a HELLISH ordeal." It _is_. I read the lines to myself, trying to get their tone right, and there's one point where I just have to give up, and it frustrates me to no end. So, and I keep repeating myself, THANK YOU, it means the world to me that you wrote what you wrote. I'm terrified of OOCness, and even though I'll always wonder what I could have done to turn 'right' into 'just _right_', the fact that people can actually hear the characters' voices through my writing is phenomenal.

And I absolutely _adore_ dialogue only fics - but there's so few, and I don't get why, it feels wonderfully refreshing to write like this.

"I can't wait to see the conclusion of this, and I'll definitely be waiting eagerly for any future fics you choose to write, regardless of the pairing." This is the best thing you could say to any fanfiction author, I'm sure - redundant, yes, but THANK YOU. As far as conclusions go, this might be a bit of a letdown, but I wanted it to have an open ending and pave the way for all the follow-up.

Multi-shipping is the only way to live! While Kurtofsky is my OTP, I ship Kinn, Kum, Puckurt, and _Klaine_ - the last only in fanfiction, though. WELCOME ABOARD!

**Cornflakesareglutenfree :** MY PIMP (see ^^^ for physical proof). I saw EVERYTHING and was over the moon with you, really. How shall I ever repay you? Will gratuitous Kurtofsk smut do? I honestly hope it does, because I'll have to sell my parents and my sister for virtual rum and cookies otherwise.

About the three dates… you'll hear (read) about them, but I didn't plan on writing them out. I think I will skip to the point AFTER the third date mark, if you get my meaning.

THE PIMPING OUT OF MY FIC, I STILL CAN'T… If smut doesn't suffice I _will_ sell my family, I'll send you my firstborn, though I don't know what anyone would want with a firstborn, but they seem pretty valuable.

* * *

><p>TO ALL THAT REVIEWED AND DIDN'T GET A REPLY: I just wish FF worked like LJ, because it feels awkward to reply to everybody here, and I feel creepy as hell PM'ing you all.<p>

On to the epilogue!

* * *

><p>"Why, hello David."<p>

"Hi, Kurt."

"Sleep well?"

"Fuck you, Fancy."

"Mm-hmm, I see. One could say it wasn't that much better for me either."

"Shit. Come over?"

"Isn't it an awkward time for a visit? There's lunch and napping, after all."

"You broke into my house at two in the morning."

"I certainly did. Can you imagine if it hadn't been me, but someone with bad intentions?"

"Couldn't have had worse intentions than you, you goddamn tease. Fuck, I knew I'd forgotten something last night."

"More kissing?"

"The _alarm_. Perv."

"Hmph."

"Y'know, I couldn't get more than a two hours sleep after that little stunt you pulled."

"What stunt?"

"You _know_ what stunt."

"Oh. Frustrated, were you?"

"You keep this up and I'm coming over to _your _house, Hudson and your dad's rifle be damned."

"_Eager_."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Kurt –"

"You should really open your front door right about... now."

"_What_?"

"If you want to, of course. I wouldn't like you to miss out on anything that might be sitting on your doorstep, that's all."

"You –"

"Come on, Dave, one of your neighbours just peeked out. And it's one from the creepy batch, too."

"Fuck –"

"Don't trip. Holy Gaga, who told him he could pull off a silk red kimono? It's _short_, Coco have mercy on my eyeballs, _please_, they're burning, Dave, _help_."

"God –"

"Oh, there you are. Hi, David."

"_Hi_."

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Yeah. Yeah, come here –"

"David –"

"Missed. You."

"We just saw – oh, do that again – each other... uhngh, missed you too."

"Fuck, so much –"

"Couldn't wait to –"

"You wanna – my room?"

"Your mom?"

"Sleepin'. Is this – Fancy?"

"It's fine, do it, do it, god, David, your _hands_ –"

"So. Maybe _that _will get him to stop whining from now on."

"Fuck!"

"Oh dear."

"Hi, Kurt."

"Hello, Alexis. How are you?"

"I've been worse. And you?"

"Definitely been worse. David, stop that, you'll hurt yourself."

"Considering how thick-headed he is, I'm more worried about the wall."

"It is such a nice head, though."

"There really is no accounting for taste. Your face is totally gonna freeze that way, Day-Day."

"You. Out."

"My house."

"Your room."

"Dave, be nice."

"I'll show _you_ nice."

"Not the TMI alert, _ew_, for the love of –"

"Hey, Alex, feel like being scarred for life?"

"Go-ing. Gone!"

"David, hones – mmngh."

"Wanna?"

"_Yes_. Wait, let me just – hmm."

"Fuck, Kurt, your _mouth_."

"Yours isn't so bad either."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Uh-uh."

"Just gonna –"

"Door stays open!"

"Pipe down, you little creep, mom's sleeping."

"I'll tell _dad_."

"I'll tell him I caught you smoking with that other chick."

"I wasn't!"

"Yeah? Watch me giving a fuck."

"Argh. _Do_ yell for help, Kurt."

"I will, Alexis, thank you."

"Why can't _you_ be my brother, really."

"Go- Fucking _finally_."

"You shouldn't be so – you know."

"They already like you better, anyway. What, did you roofie them or something?"

"Or something. I'm just that likable."

"Hmph."

"Aww, don't worry. I still like _you_ better."

"Yeah? So sweet."

"Me or my –"

"_You_'re sweet. Your neck's _tasty_."

"_Oh_!"

"What? What did I do?"

"Sensitive, I – I never knew – oh _god_..."

"Really? Here? Or maybe –"

"_David_..."

"Hmm, where were -"

"Here."

"Like it, don't you?"

"_Shut up_..."

"Y'know, you're kinda overdressed, Fancy."

"Yes? Well, I'll just – there."

"Is that – _Fuck_."

"You mentioned liking this shirt, once. In passing."

"Fu-uck."

"I was wearing it last week under my coat, just so you know."

"You... you were?"

"But then you went and snubbed my painfully obvious attempts at seduction, so I decided you weren't worthy."

"God, Kurt, I said I was so–"

"You had better be."

"Shit, you look so fucking good in it."

"_Finally_, a compliment."

"Didn't know I was allowed."

"You – you're allowed."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. T-that, too."

"This, hum?"

"Oh..."

"What about this?"

"You – _David_ – you're allowed _everything_."


End file.
